Bad Blood (Bindings II)
by ALetteredWoman
Summary: AU post S10. Family & friends have helped Sam Winchester push Lucifer out of his body. But Sam is now dealing with the after-effects of being possessed by Lucifer: his innate powers are now permanent & he has a renewed addiction to demon blood. Blood from one specific demon: Crowley. So what's Crowley's game? Angst/love/hate/scheming/etc. Sam/Rowena (later), Crowley/OC Completed!
1. Under My Thumb (Rolling Stones)

Crowley's phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, glanced at the display, smiled broadly. He thumbed the answer button, held the phone to his ear, and strolled over to the window overlooking Central Park.

"Moose!" he sang out in his British accent. He twitched the drapes open wider with his other hand, settled in the window seat, looking out the window. "What, out already?! It hasn't even been a day! Tch. You should be ashamed of yourself, pet."

There was a long, fraught silence from the other end of the line. Then Sam Winchester spoke, his voice shaking with suppressed anger. "You son of a bitch. You god-damned fucking son of a bitch. I am going to kill you." He bit it out so each word was clear, distinct, hard. Crowley smirked.

"Now, now. If you do that, where will you get more? I _am_ a unique individual, darling. There's no-one in the world with blood like mine, y'know."

There was another long pause, then Sam asked, pained, " _Why?!_ Why'd you do it, Crowley? What _possible_ gain could you get from this?!"

Crowley twitched a one-sided smile, leaned his head back against the frame of the window. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, eyelids drooping. "Oh, well. You know. Returning a favor for a favor, maybe?"

" _What?!_ "

He swung his leg languidly. "Dear me, pet. Forgetting something, are you? Let me refresh your memory," he snarled. "Six months in your deadly dull dungeon? Me with an addiction to human blood? My kingdom in a shambles? Abbadon making inroads? All that unpleasant mess?"

Sam sucked in a breath. Crowley could imagine the eyebrows drawing together, Moose squinting his grey-green - or was it grey-blue? He could never tell. Whatever, they were very pretty... - eyes in shrewd suspicion. The next words fulfilled his expectations.

"Really. Funny how you didn't do anything about it sooner."

Crowley swung his leg again, smiled gently. "Yes, well. All good things come to those who wait, blah, blah, blah."

The response was swift. "No. Revenge? That's not it - or it's only part of it. Where's the profit, Crowley? What do you get out of it? Every single one of your schemes...there's always multiple reasons. You don't do _anything_ without getting something in return. What's the game?"

"Tch, Moose. Can't I just wallow in the sheer pleasure of fucking with you?"

Sam growled. "I'm warning you, you slimy bastard. Whatever it is you're after, you won't get it. You will, however, get ganked. Trust me."

"Pet, I get all tingly when you talk rough to me," Crowley teased. "I don't doubt you'll try to - er - gank me. In the meantime, just give me a call when you run out, I'll be more than happy to oblige...ta-ta!" He hung up, and sat in the window quietly for a few more minutes, humming tunelessly. He was - dare he say it? - content. Lucifer was vessel-less. Dean Winchester was free of the Mark of Cain (which had been a dreadful mistake on his own part, alas. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.). Sam Winchester was dangling from his string, hooked on demon blood again - specifically, his blood. He was ready to take back Hell.

And he had his Dani-girl.

Which, if he was honest, both pleased him greatly, and unnerved him.

She was absolutely nothing like any of his previous flings; he expected she would laugh in his face if he showered her with jewels and clothing, and she _might_ , if he asked very nicely, wear ultra high heels in the bedroom, but nowhere else. Petite, short hair, tiny breasts, more interested in research than killing and torture, just barely come into her demon powers, and flaunting a deep friendship with her meat-suit, which had absolutely scandalized Davis, the old prude. Nothing like his normal type.

The thing that unnerved him was how deeply she had sunk into his own psyche.

He really didn't like that.

* * *

Sam tossed the phone in his hand, over and over, staring into space with a deep frown.

He had been so damned happy, just a day ago. Released from Lucifer. Surrounded by family, friends. Thanksgiving had seemed so serendipitous, that it fell so soon after Dean, Cas, Charlie, Dani...even Crowley, damn him!...had helped him fight Lucifer, finally toss him out. And even though he found himself still stuck with his power and the other-sight, the blessing had been that he had returned without feeling a single twinge, no ache or yearning for demon blood. He had actually thanked his absent God, out in the darkness of the woods last night, tears in his eyes. He had thought he was spared that side effect of Lucifer possessing him.

And then...then he had found the one last gift from the party sitting on the dresser in "his" room in the temporary cabin. And he had opened it. And his happiness had come crashing down, shattered into pieces, because the _need_ was back. The aching, burning, shameful _need_ to drink the blood Crowley had so "generously" provided him. The _need_ to feel the insanely crazy high it gave him, the explosion of power that made his head spin and his body feel like it was on fire, that gave him the feeling that he was one with the universe of energy that flickered and sparkled behind everything when he looked with the other-sight.

Crowley had set him up.

The thing was, he couldn't figure out why.

He was just so damned tired. Tired of things happening to him, to Dean, to Cas. Times like this - when yet another crisis hit - he just wanted to be _normal_ , dammit. A boring, ordinary life; white picket fence, wife, two kids, mini-van, dog and all. Not always fighting monsters, coping with angel politics, wheeling and dealing with vermin like demons. He had just spent months locked in his own brain, oblivious, and then another month faced with the reality of being possessed by Lucifer and not in control of his own life.

He perched on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

It was all too much.

"Hey. Dude."

He jerked up, twisted around. Dean was leaning on the door jamb, a bowl of dry cereal in his hands. He scooped out a handful, popped it into his mouth. It crunched loudly as he chewed. "What's up? You're all mopey-like."

Sam waved a dismissing hand. "Eh, nothing. Just tired." He couldn't - _couldn't!_ \- suck Dean into this mess. Not again. Not when he could plainly see the weariness in Dean's hazel eyes, lines from the stress of the last few months. Dean had done so _much_ for him. He couldn't let him down, yet again.

Dean stopped chewing for a moment, and his eyes flickered. His face was expressionless. "Yeah. Right. Okay." His voice was flat and even. He chewed, swallowed, pulled himself straight, started to turn away. Then his face softened. He let out a long sigh and turned back. "Sammy. It's okay to be...be..." He flailed his free hand wordlessly. "It's okay to feel freaked out, not quite with it. You've just been Lucy's little bitch for six months. You gotta sort things out. Just...don't pretend to be okay when you're not." He frowned at Sam. "Don't do that, okay? Don't...shut me out. I'm here. Okay?"

It was quite a speech for Dean. Sam sighed, closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. He opened them up again and smiled wryly at his brother. "Yeah." He drew in a deep breath, and repeated, more firmly, "Yeah. Okay." A bit. He'd lean on Dean just a bit. But he just couldn't talk about his powers, the renewed demon blood addiction, not to Dean, of all people. He'd understand weariness, some kind of PTSD thing from the possession. But any mention of his "psychic shit", and Dean would freeze up. It made him wary, suspicious. People with "psychic shit" were just too close to monsters for Dean's comfort.

"And, Dean...thanks." He knew tears were welling up in his eyes, but he couldn't stop it. Dean just shook his head, rolled his eyes, and said, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Enough of this shit, dude. Come get some breakfast."

* * *

Dani was snuggled on her sofa, wrapped in a fluffy blanket, reading the latest issue of _Journal des Pratiques Occultes,_ when he appeared. She heard the air moving away, glanced over, and smiled.

"Hey," she said.

Crowley didn't respond, just looked at her with folded lips and arms. He started tapping his foot; if she didn't know him, she'd say he was nervous. But that was just silly.

 _~~okay, what's going on?~~_

 _I haven't the vaguest idea, Innie-Me._

She was about to ask him the same thing when he abruptly nodded in decision. "So. When are you moving in?"

 _~~whoa! that came out of left field!~~_

Dani blinked at him in surprise. Surely she had heard it wrong? " _What?!_ Move in?" He gave her a short nod. "To _your_ place?" He nodded again. Her eyes widened. "Um. Oh, how about... _never_?"

He jerked his head back, startled. Then he frowned. "Never?!" He looked insulted.

She sat up, patted the sofa beside her. He regarded her with narrowed eyes, then snorted. "No thanks, pet. I'd rather you explained yourself."

"Oh, dear. Look. That came out wrong, but the answer is still the same. Come sit down."

He bared his teeth in a grim smile, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. She could see his crossroads demon red beginning to flare in his eyes. She was totally perplexed at the response.

"I said, no thanks." His voice was hard.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to pick a fight," she snapped. His eyes flickered. Her jaw dropped. "You are! You're ginning up a stupid-ass fight! What in the world - ?!" She stood up, tossed her blanket onto the sofa, marched up to him, and poked him in the chest. "Look. I thought things were going along fine. In fact, more than fine. Then you toss this...this hand-grenade. You must have known it would be a total, out-of-the-blue surprise!"

 _~~damn, girl. he's chickening out.~~_

 _What?!_

 _~~bu-gaw! buck-buck-bu-gaw! cold feet. pb is scared. you're getting too close...~~_

The red flare was dimming. He lifted a sardonic eyebrow. "I love you, too, Danielle, darling," he snarked. Dani found it irritating that he could tell when Innie-Me was speaking. It felt like he was eavesdropping.

 _~~asshole.~~_

Dani gritted her teeth. "Stop sniping at each other!" she hissed. Then she took a step back, dropped her hand, raised her own eyebrows haughtily. His lips twitched; she had no idea how she looked, with her short hair standing straight up in all directions and her look of disdain. "Look. If you want to stop seeing me, just say so. I'm a big girl. I can take it. Just don't play this type of game. Be straightforward, for once in your devious, manipulative life."

He sighed, and the last red spark died out. "Dani-girl. You remember a certain conversation where you told me you couldn't think straight around me?"

Well, yes, she did. It had been both immensely frustrating and funny at the same time. She gave him a quick, sharp nod. He reached out, slid a hand around her waist, pulled her close. Even though she was angry, she couldn't help swaying closer, molding her body to his. He leaned in, murmured in her ear, "You do the same to me, pet. And, like you, I don't like it."

 _Well. I did ask him to be straightforward._

 _~~hunh. i didn't expect him to actually admit it.~~_

There was a very grudging, very tiny hint of approval in Innie-Me's tone.

"So the demand I move in was just pretense," Dani murmured back. He drew his head back, just a little, lifted an eyebrow, and twitched a lazy, one-sided smile.

"I believe I'll just leave that as a puzzle for the class to figure out, darling..."

 _~~and boom, right back to messing with your head. damn. he just can't stop, can he?~~_

Dani didn't answer. She was busy brushing his lips with hers, enjoying the small, sharp intake of breath from him, the immediate response they both had. He pushed her back toward the sofa, then down onto it, pulled her head back, and kissed her brutally hard. The question of motivation really didn't interest her right now.

* * *

Breakfast was odd. Charlie kept glancing at him, her face unconsciously drawing into a small frown. Dean talked about football. Cas sat with an adolescent fox kit at his feet, murmuring to him. He had introduced the kit as "Grass in the Wind", and informed Sam that Grass needed a little support, because it was time for him to leave home and he didn't feel confident enough yet. Apparently, Mama Fox was wanting an empty nest and pushing him to leave.

Sam and Dean had exchanged amused glances at that.

But, all in all, Sam didn't really feel like talking, and he got the itchy feeling that everyone else was wanting him to talk and finding his silence frustrating. When he finished his smoothie and leftover biscuit from Thanksgiving dinner, he quickly made his excuses, grabbed a jacket, and darted out of the cabin before anyone could stop him.

He walked aimlessly through the chilly woods for a while, and then found an old bench nestled under some trees, sat down on it, stretched his long legs before him, and pushed his long reddish-brown hair out of his face.

It was peaceful here. He huffed out clouds of breath into the cold air and watched them dissipate. Then he flipped in and out of the other-sight, looking for the blue knots of energy that were small animals. There weren't many; winter weather had begun, and most of the animals were snuggling down for warmth.

He heard a rustling. He turned his head, and there was Charlie, huddled down in her winter jacket, trudging towards him.

"Hey," she called out.

"Hey."

She sat down beside him on the bench with a sigh, and stretched her legs out, too. She was silent for a few minutes, then suddenly butted his shoulder with her head in a sisterly manner.

"Sam. Talk to me. What's going on? You're all glum and quiet. You were okay yesterday, all talky, but you've hardly said a word today."

He sighed and leaned forward. "Yeah. I know."

She nudged him again. "Yo. Sam, it's me. We're family. You're like my big brother - if I had a big brother, which I don't, but if I could choose, you and Dean would be my choice, because you're so - " She stopped and bit her lip. "Sorry! You know what I mean."

He laughed softly, pulled her into a sideways hug, and kissed the top of her head. "Don't ever change, kiddo."

"Well, I can't - I mean, I can change my name, and kind of change my styles, but you know me, I think this personality is - " She stopped again, clenched her fists momentarily, drew a deep breath, and continued. "Sam. If you need help - talk to me. Or Dean. Or maybe a therapist. Y'know, being possessed like that - I think it's a lot like - like rape. You - you lose control over your life. You - ". She stopped, because Sam had thrown back his head and barked out a sharp laugh.

"What?!"

"Oh, yeah. That'd go over real well," he said bitterly. "'Doctor, I was possessed by Satan for six months, and I think I need treatment for PTSD.' Yeah, right."

She bit her lip again, dropped her head. Her shoulder-length dark red hair veiled her face. She shrugged. "Okay. Yeah. You're right. Y'know, you could always just...lie."

He pulled her back into the hug, rested his chin on her head. "Doesn't lying to your therapist kind of defeat the whole purpose?"

"Sam. You're hurting. I'm just trying to help." Her voice was small.

"I know." He let her go, looked out into the woods, then looked back at her. "I know, Charlie. But it's not just that." He sagged against the back of the bench, ran a hand through his hair. "If it were just that, I'd be asking for help all over the place." She squinted at him skeptically. "Seriously."

He drew a shuddering breath. He did need to share part of it, with someone. Before he lost his courage, he lifted up his hand, splayed the fingers, reached with his mind. "It's this, too," he said in a low voice.

He tugged gently at the leaves under a tree, sent them spiraling up into the air. Charlie looked, glanced back to him with a question in her eyes, then watched the leaves, her mouth slightly open. To ensure she really understood that someone was controlling the movement, he sent them, single file, into a roller coaster dive, then back up, then left them gathered hovering over their heads for a moment, just long enough so it was obvious it wasn't natural. Then he let go, and the dead leaves pattered down on their heads, coats, thighs, the bench.

Charlie laughed with delight, shaking leaves out of her hair. She jumped up, danced away from the bench, and sang out, "Whoa! _Whoa!_ Did you just do that?! Oh, man, that is so damn cool!" She whirled around, her eyes wide. "Can you - can you lift _me_ up, too?"

Sam blinked. This automatic acceptance, the eagerness she showed, the willingness to explore - he didn't know how to handle it.

"You...you don't...mind?" he asked. He looked down, scrubbing one fist up and down his thigh.

"Mind? Sam, this is so totally amazing!" She was grinning, excited, intrigued. Then, without warning, her face fell. She stopped in the middle of her dancing, her arms dropping. She walked slowly back to the bench and stopped in front of him; her eyes were shadowed, worried.

"I've read all of the books," she started, then hesitated. He looked up at her, his eyebrows twitching into a questioning frown. She sucked in a breath. "All of them. Sam. Sam, are you - are you - oh, darn it, I don't know how to ask this, but I've got to." She balled her hands into fists at her side, and she blurted out, "Sam, are you drinking demon blood to do this?"

He flinched, paled, turned his head away. "No!" he choked out. "Not for this, no! It's...it's natural, I do it without-without... _that_." He stood up abruptly, started striding rapidly back toward the cabin, his head down. Charlie ran after him.

"Sam! Stop!"

She darted in front of him, then turned to face him and stopped dead on the trail, blocking his way. Her face was pale, deadly serious. "'Not for this'...okay, then. You _are_ drinking the blood again."

"What?! No!" He forced himself to make it into a disbelieving half-laugh. "You're crazy, Charlie!"

"You're lying, Sam. Don't lie to me."

He reached out, took her shoulders, moved her easily out of his way, then started back down the trail. She looked after him in dismay, but made no move to follow him again. She watched him dwindle in the distance. After a few minutes, she trudged slowly down the trail herself, head down, biting her lips.


	2. A Little Help From My Friends (Beatles)

Dean wandered into the kitchen for a snack. Charlie was there, head down over her new iPad, red hair dangling forward, frowning in fierce concentration. He opened a cabinet, looked over the contents, then pulled out a bag of chips, pulled it open, and started munching.

"Charlie! What's up?"

"Mmph," she muttered absently.

He sat down across from her, dropped the bag on the table. Then he leaned forward and waved a hand between her face and the screen.

"Yo! Charlie!"

She looked up, blinked at him, then suddenly flashed him a wide smile. "Dean!"

"Hunh. Yeah, thought you were somewhere else. What're you doing?" He nodded to the iPad with his chin.

She looked back down at it, twitched another small frown, looked back at him. "Remember right before I was kidnapped by Lucifer's gang? On the phone? I was just about to tell you about something I had just heard about - The Book of the Saved."

He jerked his head back a bit. "Ugh. Sounds like the Book of the Damned, and we all know where _that_ got us!"

She pushed her hair back behind an ear. "Well! The Book of the Saved was sort of a - a - companion book. Legend has it that it was written at the same time, but by another mad nun in a different convent. There were lots of them - mad nuns - don't you think? I wonder if being isolated made it easier for their minds to - to key into something cosmic. Like, wooooo..." She sang the last word in a Twilight Zone fashion, wiggling her fingers in the air. Then she frowned, pursed her lips, and smiled again. "So. The two books are tied together? Like the Book of the Saved is a - an antidote?" He nodded at her to go on, intrigued. "Anyway! I found the one, now I want to try finding the other!" She switched off the screen, folded her hands on it, sat up straight.

"Kiddo, don't you think it would be good to just...rest...for a little while?" He certainly did. It was nice, realizing there were no crises, nothing urgent for them to be doing. He thought again of the vacation idea he had had, of going to the ocean, soaking up some sun, swimming, just relaxing...

"Dean. Rowena got a really good look at the Book of the Damned while we were translating it, looking for a cure. She's not going to just sit around! And the lead I had - well, it's not going to last forever, y'know! Gotta hop right on that puppy! So. Now I have a quest!" She smiled brightly at him.

She did love a quest. He grinned at her. "Need help?"

She picked up the tablet, nibbled at her lips, peered at him through the dark red curls that had, once again, fallen into her eyes. "Nah, I think I'll go it alone. More fun that way!"

He suddenly had the very odd feeling that she was keeping something from him. The thought made him blink, then he mentally shrugged it off.

"Well, okay then. What's your first stop? And don't think you're totally alone - " He waggled an admonishing finger at her. "You're going to keep in touch. Right? Let us know if things are chasing after you, like those damned Stynes. Right?" He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Okay, okay - sheesh! Going all protective big brother-y on me. I did fine without you guys before, you know!" she grumbled.

"That was before. This is now. You've been dumped into the world of things that go bump in the night." He paused, then continued. "I'm serious. Call us. Keep us posted. Now: first stop?"

She folded her lips and mock-glared at him. "Man! Touchy, touchy! Okay! I'll be sure to look under my bed every night. First stop - " She gazed into the distance, her eyes unfocused. "New York, I think..."

He grabbed some more chips from the bag. "And if you meet a nice girl, you have to run her by us first."

She rolled her eyes. "Riiight. So! Do you think Cas might give me a lift to the city?"

* * *

Dani puttered around her living room, rearranging her collection of Day of the Dead figurines. She had contracted for a series of small occult research jobs, which were fun, but at this point she also wanted something with more substance to have as a long-term background project. Small jobs were like sweets - delicious little tidbits, but a steady diet of them was tiring. She needed something to sink her mental teeth into. Searching for the spell to unbind Crowley and Sam Winchester - now, that had been invigorating, challenging.

And she had met Crowley. _That_ had certainly made her life...interesting. She twitched a small, contented smile, drew her hands down her torso slowly, sensually.

 _~~oh, please. you're being...~~_

 _Being what?_

 _~~dunno. treacly? boring? obsessed? all of the above?~~_

 _Are you saying he doesn't make life interesting?_

 _~~um. well. yeah, he does. doesn't make it a good thing, y'know. 'may you have an interesting life' is an old chinese curse. he's scrambled your brains. go soak in some feminist websites for a while; it'll get your blood boiling and then you can rant at me for a bit...~~_

Dani grinned. It was a good idea, actually. She sat down, flipped open her laptop -

Her doorbell rang.

"Bah." She got up again, went to the entryway, pushed the intercom.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Dani. It's Charlie."

Charlie? Dani blinked, buzzed her in. When she opened the door, Charlie swooped in, holding out a brown paper bag.

"I brought some cookies for Danielle; I didn't know just what she'd like, so..." She opened the bag and peered in. "I've got orange-pecan biscotti, some Mexican wedding cookies, shortbread, and these bakery-made Oreo thingies." She closed the bag again and held it out to Dani with a bright smile. "Hi, Dani! Hi, Danielle!"

Dani took the bag.

 _~~cooooookies! hi, charlie!~~_

"Innie-Me is doing her best imitation of the Cookie Monster, and says hi. Thanks. Come on in. Tell me what you're doing in the city. It's good to see you." She pulled Charlie into a light sideways hug, then swept her hand out in a welcoming gesture.

Charlie unslung her backpack as she walked in, looking interestedly around, taking in the light airiness, the hardwood floors, the French doors, the vivid prints on the wall. "Oh, this is nice!" She immediately went to the shelves holding the brightly-colored Jalisco fantasy animals and crooned happily. She absently dropped her backpack, and it made a clattering noise as the collection of buttons on it hit the floor. Dani could read just one; it proclaimed loudly, "I ship Eliot/Hardison/Parker".

Dani headed into the kitchen, dropped the bag on the island, investigated the refrigerator. "Want something to drink? Ginger ale? Wine? Orange soda? ...Scotch?"

 _~~cookies?~~_

 _Later._

 _~~damn.~~_

"Dani, that's a really weird selection of drinks..." Dani twisted around, peered at her; she was leaning on the island, having abandoned the figurines.

"Well, it's what I've got. Anything?"

Charlie shook her head, her shoulder-length loose red curls bouncing. "Not right now." She looked down at her folded hands. "I need help, Dani."

"Oookay. Look. You know my standard rates..."

Charlie shot her a huffy look. "Really, Dani? You got the entire digital Men of Letters archive - which you _stole_ from us, by the way! - I'd think that would mean free help from you for me, Dean, and Sam for - like, oh, forever?!"

Dani snorted, lifted up a hand as if conceding defeat. "Had to try it, you know that."

Charlie grinned briefly, then looked down again, bit her lips. She sighed. "We have a real problem." Dani twitched up an inquiring eyebrow. "Sam. He...he...oh, I don't like to say it! But he came back from Lucifer's possession with - with his addiction to drinking demon blood back, real strong."

Dani grimaced. "Drinking demon blood? Ew. Yuck. But - aside from the fact that I don't want to be that huge dude's target - um - what's the problem?"

Charlie looked at her, surprised. "Don't you know? Haven't you read the books?"

Dani blinked. "Read the books? What books?"

"The 'Supernatural' series? Written by Carver Edlund? All about Sam and Dean and their fight against - against monsters and demons and Lucifer, the first go-round? The Apocalypse?"

Dani pursed her lips, shook her head. "Nope. Doesn't ring a bell."

It was Charlie's turn to blink. "Then how d'you know so much about Dean and Sam?"

Dani shrugged. "Oh, baby demon school, demon gossip, _The Demon Daily Online_...all demons know about the Winchesters and how dangerous they are, how careful you have to be when making a deal with them, the demon knife, that kind of thing. And the talk about Dean Winchester and Crowley, when Dean got turned into a demon and they went on their bromance spree - Whoo! I also got a lot of info from all my occult research. But I never heard of these books."

"Oh. Well. Forget the books, then. Look, Sam drinking demon blood is bad, bad, bad. He like...goes dark side. Sorta teeters on the edge of good and evil, y'know?" She illustrated with a hand wobbling back and forth. "And...well. It's like heroin for him - that's not good! He gets...power from it. When he killed Lilith - his eyes went demon black! And the detox is something awful, it takes weeks, and the powers go all weird and start eating him up from inside and he doesn't have control, and - and - Dani, it's just awful. And I have to help him. I _have_ to."

Dani leaned an elbow on the island and her chin on that fist. She twisted her lips thoughtfully. "Um. Charlie. Look. I'm a demon. Someone going dark side is, um, something to cheer about for us."

Charlie glared at her. "You _owe_ us!" she said fiercely. "And you're my _friend_! Friends _help_ friends!"

Dani held up her hands, sighing. "Okay, okay. So what, exactly, do you need from me?"

"Hold on," Charlie said, and darted back into the living room. She came back with her backpack, dropped it on the island counter, began digging in it. She pulled out an iPad, turned it on. "So! First, it would be nice if you could find some sort of - of magic detox spell. Second, I have a lead on the Book of the Saved, which might be useful, and I was thinking you might help in looking for that. Third..." She stopped and frowned. "Sam's getting the blood from somewhere, someone, and we need to know where, maybe, um, interrupt the drug delivery stream, y'know?"

Dani lifted an eyebrow. "Hunh. All of that makes sense. Okay, then. A nice medium-size project. Sure. I'll start with-"

A draft wafted across her neck. Arms slid around her waist, pulling her back against his body, and he began nibbling at the nape of her neck. The skin there quivered and sent a small thrill down her back.

She cleared her throat. "Guest. I have a guest," she announced to him pointedly. She placed her hands on his to stop them wandering any further. Charlie's eyes danced and she waggled her eyebrows; Dani shot her an exasperated look in return.

He paused the small bites, then continued, murmuring, "Send him away." He was focused entirely on her, hadn't looked up.

She turned her head sideways. "Her. No."

He switched to nipping on the ear she had so helpfully presented. "Please," he breathed. The soft puff of breath teased her ear, made her draw her own in a tiny, soundless gasp.

"No."

"Invite her to join us...?" he suggested.

"No."

He gave up, sighed, dropped his forehead on her shoulder. "Bollocks!" Then he lifted his head and focused outward. His beard tickled her cheek.

"Ah. Charlie Bradbury. The Winchesters' friend." His voice was light.

Charlie grinned at him. "Hi, Crowley!"

"I...er...appreciate the invitation to Thanksgiving dinner. It was delightful," he said stiffly. Dani blinked; it was a very old fashioned courtesy. Sometimes he came out with things like that and she remembered just how long he had been around.

"It was, wasn't it? I do like when people are happy like that!"

"Really. Believe me, I am _far_ from happy at this moment," he drawled in response, shifting slightly against Dani's back. She bit her lips to keep from laughing.

"Oh!" Charlie's face fell and her eyes widened. She looked from Dani to Crowley and back. "Oh! I'm sorry! I'll just - " She pointed back at the door, closed her mouth, grabbed the backpack and tablet off the island. "I'll see you later, Dani! I'll just - um - later!" She darted to the door, caroled out, "Spell, Dani!" and left quickly.

Dani leaned forward on the counter, letting her laughter out. Crowley turned her around to face him, and narrowed his eyes at her. "Not funny, pet. Not funny at all!" he grumbled. She just laughed harder.

"Poor Charlie! She was so embarrassed!"

"Poor Charlie?! What about poor me?!"

"Oh, yes, you poor thing!"

"So," he said, tracing her hairline with a finger. "She's looking for a spell, eh? What kind of spell, pet?" It sounded like idle curiosity. But nothing he did was "idle", in her experience.

"Consultant-client privilege, can't say," she replied, leaning into his hand.

"Hmmm." He looked down at her with half-lidded eyes. "Now, where we, Dani-girl? I was thoroughly enjoying it, I remember..." He started to turn her back around, but she stopped him, pushing his hands gently away. "No," she said softly.

He drew his head back, opened his mouth to protest. She placed a finger on his lips. "Shhh. Shh, shh, shh," she murmured. She tilted her head, considering, then slipped her hands beneath his suit jacket, slid her hands up, pushed it open, and let gravity pull it down and off his arms. It made a black puddle of fabric at their feet. Then she gripped his tie, pulled him a step closer, loosened the knot, and slowly tugged it free. She let the tie drop to the floor, on top of the jacket.

He made a wordless sound of mild frustration, leaned forward to kiss her, but she drew her head back, gave him a quick, sharp pat on the cheek. "Back, boy!" she whispered, pushing him back into place. He closed his eyes momentarily, bit his lips, drew a ragged breath. She smiled languidly, started humming, and returned to her work, her hands tracing the subtle brocade pattern on his shirt, moving leisurely to the top button. She undid it, pushed the fabric open, let a fingertip glide around the skin revealed, then repeated the process for all the buttons available. His head was back, eyes half open, and his skin shivered beneath her touch. She tugged the shirt free from his pants, completed unbuttoning it, let both hands wander down to release one sleeve cuff, then the other, then pulled the shirt open, pushed it down off his shoulders. It joined the jacket and tie on the floor.

She drew in a long, deep breath of her own, then leaned forward, closing her eyes, running her hands lightly up and down the skin on his chest, breathing in his scent. She began a trail of nipping and licking, starting at his neck, then moving down.

He broke, and with a growl, he yanked her close, pulled one of her legs up his thigh, pushed her back hard against the island. "My turn," he breathed.

 _~~i want my cookies after this is done...but take your time, please...~~_

* * *

It had been a long day. The talk with Charlie had left Sam unsettled, upset. She didn't seem to have talked to Dean about it, though, thank heavens. And she had left before he returned to the cabin, so he didn't have to face any more of her concerned prodding. Dean and Cas had gone into town to buy food, so he was all alone for a while.

He sat on the bed, propped against the bolsters and single pillow, legs stretched out before him. He held the flask in his hands, and turned it over and over, staring at it darkly. The tiny black enamel eyes in the center of the roses glinted as it moved. They looked like little demon eyes. He shuddered. He made a move to open the flask, then stopped.

No. Maybe later, but not now - Dean and Cas would be back soon, and Crowley's blood affected him so much he didn't dare drink now; he would be totally incoherent by the time they returned.

His mouth twisted in self-disgust at how he was calculating these things. Junkies did that.

Junkies.

He was a junkie.

He was addicted, and there was no-one to turn to for help. He had dried out before, but in safe surroundings, with people who knew and loved him, and who knew and respected the supernatural. No detox center in the world could provide those ingredients. He could just imagine the uproar if the power started flinging him around the walls while in a "normal" detox facility.

Right now, he was consumed with anger. He would damn both Lucifer and Crowley to hell, but it seemed kind of redundant. Still: Damn Lucifer for restarting the addiction while he was trapped inside his brain, damn Crowley for seizing the opportunity to sink his hook in. He was going to find a way, somehow, to stop the craving, kill Crowley. This time, for sure. No more exemptions for being "useful", a "known factor", "better than Lucifer".

He sat up and angrily shoved the flask between the mattress and box spring.

Just in time, too; he heard the cabin door open and close, and Dean and Cas chatting. Steps came down the hallway, and Dean popped his head in the door.

"Hey, Sammy. C'mon out - we're doing burgers." He glanced around the room. "Get outta this box. Have a beer."

"Sounds good." Sam got up, left the room. Dean hung back behind, and Sam turned around to look at him. He caught Dean peering into his room with a gleam in his eye, and suddenly he was thrown back ten years, dealing with Dean pulling pranks. "Yo. Dude," he called out.

Dean turned back to him with an elaborately innocent look. "Hmm?"

"I know that look. Stay out of my room! No itching powder in my underwear!"

"You're no damn fun, Sammy, y'know that?" Dean grumbled, and they headed down the hallway to the kitchen.


	3. Lost You In The Canyon (Marc Cohn)

Dean stopped in the doorway of Sam's room, leaned back out, and quickly peered both ways down the hall. No-one there. He grinned and entered all the way, looking over Sam's temporary home. It was very Sam-like: neat, tidy, not many personal touches. That always made him just a little sad, though he'd never admit it. Sam had gotten so used to living in temporary housing that he seemed to have shed everything. What he had was what was in his duffle and backpack. It had been the same even when they had the bunker as a home base.

Dean shrugged off the introspection. He had brought three smelly, dirty towels with him; he swiftly folded them in half and rolled them. Then he grabbed Sam's pillow, shook it out of the pillowcase, and replaced the pillow with the towels. He tossed the naked pillow under the bed, and tested to be sure the false pillow was hard and lumpy. And smelly.

Next, he grabbed Sam's laptop. He remembered to check for the hair trick - Sam had gotten very good at one point with leaving one of his hairs draped over things he was sure Dean would mess with. He opened it and logged in as Sam.

 _I wonder if Sammy knows I guessed his password?_

He took a quick screenshot, then set it as the lock screen and set the lock timer as short as it could go. Then he logged out, slapped it shut, and carefully placed it back where it had been.

He pulled the comforter off the bed, short-sheeted the bed, and rearranged the comforter.

"Hmm, hmm, hmm. Now what?" he mused, rubbing his chin.

He looked around. Sam had taken his phone, so he couldn't pop out the SIM card. No sink, so he couldn't mess with the dental hygiene. Now, Sam had often done the hide-things-between-the-mattress-and-box spring trick as a boy; time to check there. Nothing on the one side when he checked. He started feeling between them on the other side, stopped when his hand hit something hard. He wrapped his fingers around it, pulled it out, curious to see what Sam was hiding.

A silver flask. Pretty. He sat down on the bed, rubbed the back of his head. Drinking. Not surprising, given what he'd been through. But he didn't need to hide it. Dean sighed.

"Well, shit, it's fair game!" He muttered to himself. He went to the door, looked quickly in both directions again, and quick-stepped to the bathroom. He shut the door behind him, lifted the flask over the sink, started to tilt it, then paused, and said softly, "Ha-ha! Let's see what you're drinking, little bro." He uncapped the flask and took a large swig.

It tasted awful - salty, sweet. He sputtered and spit, spraying the liquid all over the sink. For one second, he thought it was some weird Tibetan fermented yak milk or new-agey cleanse, the kind of strange "health" drink Sammy would indulge in sometimes. Then he looked at the dark red splattered about and in the sink, and his heart stopped.

Blood.

It was blood.

Sam had a hidden flask filled with blood.

Dean jerked the sink faucet wide open, desperately cupped his hands to gather the water, rinsed his mouth out over and over again until there was no remnant of the taste. He held the flask over the sink with shaking hands and upended it, watching the blood spiral down the drain, diluted into stringy threads by the water. Then he scrubbed the sink down, and checked to be sure none of the blood had spattered on his clothes. He splashed water over his face multiple times.

Then he just leaned on the sink with rigid hands and stared at himself blankly in the mirror for a few horrified minutes.

Then he smashed his fist into the wall.

* * *

He strode into the kitchen. Sam was standing at the counter, a plate with an almost completed sandwich before him. Sunlight was streaming in the window over the kitchen sink, flecking his long brown hair with bright red highlights. Dean stopped, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

Sam turned. "Oh, hey, Dean - "

"Is there something you want to say to me, Sammy?" His voice was rough and hard. He stepped forward and slammed the flask down on the kitchen table. It tilted from the force, spun around a few times, then settled on its side. Sam looked at it, paled, flinched. He was frozen for a few seconds, then:

"Dean - I can ex - "

"You can _what_?" Dean interrupted hoarsely. " _Explain_? Explain _this?_!? A flask full of fucking _blood?_!?" He swept it off the table with his arm. It clanged musically as it flew into the refrigerator door and fell to the floor.

"Dean - !" Sam shouted.

He kicked a chair out of his way as he lunged at Sam. He grabbed his shirt, yanked him forward. Even though Sam was bigger, stronger, Dean's rage made him strong enough.

Sam turned his head away, his cheek muscles beside his nose twitching. He was beginning to huff small, angry breaths.

"Look at me. _Look_ at me, dammit! Lying. Hiding things. Again." He pushed Sam back, hard, and Sam staggered as he hit the kitchen counter. "What'd you do, find yourself some skanky demon bitch to fuck the first morning you were back, beg her for some of that sweet, _sweet_ demon blood?" He couldn't stop himself, the hateful words just spilled out.

Sam's jaw clenched and his hands unconsciously spasmed into fists, over and over again. His head jerked to the side, his lips thinning over his teeth. He was sucking in breaths and puffing them out again like a pump. Dean knew he was pushing him into a rage, too, but his anger kept him going long past any chance of them calming things down.

He shoved Sam again, his arms like iron. "I _begged_ you. I told you to _talk_ to me! I said I was _there_ for you!" Each word he emphasized was accompanied by another push and a small step forward. "And you fucking go and do _this!_ " By this time, Dean was right up in his brother's face, his own face twisted with pain and anger.

Sam snapped.

" _DEAN!_ " he roared. He pushed back, hard. Dean went flying across the kitchen, into the living room, where he smashed against the dining table and fell to the floor, dazed.

Sam's face jutted forward, and he started shouting. "How the _hell_ am I supposed to talk to you about this stuff when _this_ is what you do? What would you have done?! Hunh?!" He smashed his fist down on the counter, grinding his teeth. "If I had come to you, said it was back, I was hooked again?! Hell, you can barely even _look_ at me now! And I was supposed to _tell_ you?!" His voice cracked. "Have you think I'm a _monster_?! _NO!_ I didn't tell you, because I fucking well knew what would happen - and it did!"

Dean picked himself up slowly. The only times he had been tossed around like that was when he'd been smashed by demons. When _he_ was a demon, he had carelessly tossed Crowley around using both his hands and his power.

Sam was doing the same thing.

Using power.

"If you're drinking that blood to...to make yourself _powerful_ \- " He spat out the word. He started back toward the kitchen, fists clenched. "Then, yes, I'll call you a monster!" He drew in a ragged breath. "If you'd come to me saying you needed help - hell! Did you think I'd turn you away? Shoot you? But this - the hiding, using your psychic shit - "

Sam grimaced, ducked his head, shook it. He lifted it back up, and said, low and hoarse, "You're doing it right now." He stopped, breathed heavily for a moment, shook his finger. "Just what I was afraid of. _That's_ why I kept quiet about it!"

Dean took the last few steps, until he was in Sam's space again. He shook his own angry finger in his face. "Don't you _dare_ lay this on _me_ , Sammy!" Sam instinctively batted his hand away. Automatic reflex took over, and Dean's fist shot forward, slamming against Sam's cheek.

And they were fighting, fists flying at each other, tumbling into the kitchen table, smashing into the room divider, falling onto the floor in the living area. In the very back of his head, where he was still vaguely rational, Dean felt like he was experiencing déjà-vu: they'd fought like this, this absolutely angry, unthinking way, when Sam had escaped from Bobby's panic room, gone running to that bitch Ruby, years ago.

The memory of it, the total fear and desperation he had felt then, came flooding back, amplifying everything. He got up and slammed his fists into Sam multiple times - a hit to his gut, roundhouse to his chin, an uppercut. Sam head-butted him, ramming him into the coffee table. Then Sam's fist came smashing into his face, and he fell the rest of the way to the floor and lay there, stunned. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Sam heaved himself up to his knees, panting, and looked down at him for a moment. He clenched his fists again, his face twisting in a mixture of fury and grief, then he stood up unsteadily and spun around. He stormed to the door, grabbed a jacket, and left the cabin, slamming the door behind him. The cabin shook.

Dean laid there, arms spread on the floor, for a few minutes, then he slowly sat up, ran his hand across his jaw. It hurt like hell. He opened his mouth, checked his teeth - all there. One or two seemed loose, but from experience he knew they'd tighten back up. He felt at his nose, his eyes. There was lots of blood, and he'd have a fine shiner, but nothing permanently damaged. He thought.

He looked at the door of the cabin. He looked at the mess they had made. He staggered up, onto his feet. And then the anger came flooding back; he grabbed a chair, threw it across the room with a loud, wordless snarl. It smashed into the ancient sideboard. He strode around the room, venting his rage, his fear for Sammy, by throwing things, sweeping things off surfaces, breaking whatever he could lay his hands on.

Without warning, strong arms seized him from behind, wrapping around him so he couldn't move his own.

Cas's voice said urgently, "Dean! _Dean! Stop_!"

Cas. He froze for a moment, and then his rage had a new target. He broke loose, spun around, grabbed the lapels of Cas's trench coat and shook him, hard. "Cas, you God-damned son of a bitch! Did _you_ know?!"

Cas gripped his forearms, face confused. "Know what? Dean, what is going on?!"

"Son of a bitch!" Dean snarled. "Did _you_ know Sam was drinking demon blood again? Yes or no!" He shook Cas again.

Cas froze. His electric blue eyes clouded with worry. "Demon blood? Sam? Again?"

Dean searched Cas's face for any trace of deceit, then he sagged, all his anger abruptly draining away. Cas couldn't lie worth a damn: he hadn't known. Sam had kept it hidden from him, too. He dragged in a sigh, the after-effects of adrenaline, anger, fear, leaving him suddenly shaky and weak.

"Dean. You're bleeding." Cas led him over to the sofa, gently pushed him down. He perched awkwardly on the coffee table, still holding Dean's arms. He slid his hands down until they were resting on Dean's. "Tell me what happened."

Dean told the tale. By the time he was done, he was exhausted, his cheeks wet from the tears he tried to hold back. He leaned back tiredly against the sofa and eyed Cas. "So that's it," he finished. "He just...left. I don't know where he went."

"First things first," Cas said. He leaned forward, touched Dean's nose, cheek, jaw. Dean felt the healing energy, the blood vanishing, the bruises fading, the pain withdrawing slowly. Cas took his hands again, one at a time, holding with one hand, touching softly with the fingers of the other. The scrapes and bashed knuckles quickly felt better. It was...nice...to have Cas fussing over him after a scene like that. He automatically quashed the thought, like always.

Cas looked down at his handiwork thoughtfully. "Now. I cannot heal emotional exhaustion, that is something your body will have to do on its own. Your body chemistry is all screwed up right now. A very delicate dance, adrenaline and all its byproducts." He peered up at Dean from under his eyebrows with a wry smile.

Dean snorted, momentarily amused. "Delicate. Me."

Cas frowned. "Don't mock it. You've gone through an intense experience. You need to rest, or to find some way to relax. And we need to figure out where Sam has gone, come up with a plan...some way to break this current relapse. I wish we still had Bobby's panic room, or the bunker and its dungeon..." He sighed. "We find him. Bring him back. Find out where he's getting the blood from." Cas's eyes were grim. Dean felt himself tensing up again, thinking of Sam, and demon blood, and psychic bullshit. "Maybe we can stop the blood at the source?" Then his eyes met Dean's and he folded his lips, stopped. "This discussion is _not_ relaxing you. We'll talk more later."

"What would relax me is a drink," Dean muttered. Cas moved to stand up, go get one for him, but Dean's hands tightened on his. "Don't go," he added wearily.

"Never," Cas said lightly.

"Good." Dean closed his eyes, let Cas's hands slip out of his.

* * *

Sam was still miserable and furious hours later. He had just had to get away. He had made his way to one of the paved roads, managed to hitch a ride, and now he was in a cheap motel room in Saratoga Springs with no idea what to do next.

His skin was starting to itch, like ants were crawling on it. He knew the signs.

He had barreled out of the cabin with nothing except his wallet and phone, stashed in his jeans pockets. The flask of Crowley's blood - it was still lying on the floor of the cabin kitchen, so far as he knew. Yesterday night, he had stayed up with Dean and Cas, eating burgers, drinking beer, and watching Dr. Sexy, M.D. and Sharknado I and II. He had simply fallen into bed afterwards, exhausted. He hadn't had any of Crowley's blood in two days.

He pulled out his phone, stared at it thoughtfully. He scrolled through his contacts until he hit Dean, and paused, his thumb hovering over the entry.

No. He couldn't call Dean.

He scrolled aimlessly up and down the list multiple times, then he pulled up the number pad, keyed in "666", and stopped again before hitting the call button. He tossed the phone on the bed, cradled his head in his hands.

* * *

Crowley was sitting in his favorite burgundy over-stuffed chair, sipping scotch, and reading a historical romance set in seventeenth-century Scotland (snorting at the inaccuracies) when his phone rang. He tossed the book on the side table, picked up the phone, and snorted for a different reason. Moose. Again.

"Samantha, darling! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He waited. The silence at the other hand stretched on. He took another sip of scotch and sighed.

"Moose, how long do I have to wait? I'll give you one more minute; I'm not here to put up with your dilly-dallying," he added acidly.

"I need more."

"There! That wasn't so difficult, now, was it?" He smiled at the fireplace, swirled the drink around in the glass. "Tell you what, pet. I'll drop some off for you, somewhere in - where are you camping out these days? - then I'll call you with the location."

"Why not here, now?!" Sam's voice was harsh.

Crowley tilted an eyebrow up and smiled again. "You want to kill me, pet. It's just a precaution. You might be so...overcome with Moose-like rage...that you forget that killing _me_ leaves _you_ high and dry, as it were. Or _not_ high, but very dry." He smirked. "I value my precious hide, y'know." He was enjoying this, having Sam Winchester on his string.

"Saratoga Springs. Call me back, you bastard."

The connection went dead.

Crowley idly wondered how long he could make Moose wait. He finished his drink, pulled out his angel blade, and called to Davis to bring him a thermos.


	4. Witchy Woman (The Eagles)

There were multiple voicemails from Dean.

There were multiple texts from Dean.

Sam sat at the table in the motel room and contemplated the phone. Soon enough, Dean would try to find the phone, and him.

He didn't want to be found.

Sitting on the table was the thermos of Crowley's blood. Crowley had left it with the bartender of a dive bar, then called him with the location. The bartender had given him a suspicious look when he asked for it, and told him that the bearded dude in the suit was too English for his tastes, but the hundred bucks he handed over with the thermos was good, solid American money. Sam was amused.

So. He didn't want to be found. He had turned off location services during his walk to the paved road, but phones still sent location data when they pinged for cell service. First things first: he scrolled through the contacts list and carefully wrote down the very few numbers he wanted to keep. Charlie. Dean. After a bit of thought, he added Dani. After quite a bit of thought, he also wrote down Rowena's number; if he was going to go after Crowley, she might be useful. Then he walked to the bathroom, filled the sink with water, and submerged the phone. After a few minutes, he pulled it out and tossed it in the trash. He'd get a cheapie to replace it, along with an inexpensive laptop.

He carefully didn't look at the thermos, and ignored the twitching skin and shaking hands.

He went through his wallet next. Dean didn't know a few of his aliases, so he kept those credit cards and IDs. He burned the rest in the bathroom sink, smashing the ashes and washing them down the drain.

He still didn't look at the thermos.

He had bought a road map at the convenience store and now opened it and pored over it, trying to decide where it would be best to hole up for a while.

All that done, he finally grabbed one of the plastic cups by the sink, unwrapped it, and slowly filled it half full from the thermos, watching the blood stream from the mouth of the container. He recapped the thermos, set it down, and stared at the cup for a few minutes, mouth twisted and jaw muscle jumping.

Then, closing his eyes, he lifted it to his mouth and drank.

The explosion of power swept over him, like always. The thrill. The feeling of it racing through his body, outlining his nerves with glorious fire, twisting around, unfolding, sending his head spinning. He drew in a slow, shuddering breath and opened his eyes. The other-sight zinged and zagged with every piece of energy in the room - the TV, the wiring, the hot air coming from the heater intertwining lazily with the colder air around it.

He stood up unsteadily, staggered to the bed, and sprawled on his back, rapt at the vivid traceries that outlined the ceiling even through his closed eyes.

He soared...

* * *

Dean crashed out of his bedroom, shouting, "Son of a bitch! I'm an idiot, Cas! An idiot!"

Cas, who had been lying on the sofa, just contemplating the universe - which was much less pretentious than it sounds: Cas just loved the universe, and considered it a truly miraculous creation - opened his eyes, grinned, and said wryly, "So, if I call you an idiot at some time in the future, you'd have to agree it was true?"

Dean came to an abrupt halt at the entry to the living area of the cabin, shook his head in momentary confusion, then ignored the comment and continued, "Dude. Cell phone tracking. I can track Sam's phone, you can go grab him, and we can dry him out."

Cas sat up and raised an eyebrow. "Sam knows that. If he doesn't want to be found..." He left the rest unsaid. Dean clenched his jaw.

"You're a damned wet blanket, y'know?" He sat at the kitchen table, popped open the laptop, and browsed to a hackers website. The tool he was looking for was there; he entered Sam's cell number. He drummed his fingers on the table, then sank back heaving a large sigh. "Dammit. He's long gone. Last known location was recorded last night, and nothing since then. He's dumped it."

Cas just gave him a look. Dean shook his finger at him. "I can hear it even though you're not saying it out loud."

"Well. At least we have a starting point, correct?"

Dean frowned, laced his hands behind his head, looked up at the ceiling. "Shoes on the ground. It'll be slow. We'll fall behind, further and further."

"He will stop somewhere. We'll find him."

Dean leaned forward again, elbows resting on his knees, his hands now tangled in his hair. "It's just...just...oh, dammit, Cas, I was so damned angry. I said things...things I shouldn't have. Called him a monster. Pushed him away. _I_ sent him running out there. And if anything happens...my fault."

 _Even Dani can't tell me this one isn't my fault. Sam chose, yes, but I boxed him in so there was only one choice._

Cas came into the kitchen, sat down across from Dean, resting folded hands on the table. He frowned thoughtfully. "Charlie? Would he contact Charlie, do you think?"

Dean peered up at him, chewed his lips for a moment. "Maybe..." he conceded. He sat up, pulled out his phone, rang Charlie.

"Dean! What's up, bitch?" Charlie's cheerful voice made him smile for a moment.

"Charlie. Hey, kiddo - has Sam by any chance called you?"

"Nope. Why?"

Dean stood up, looked blankly out the kitchen window. "Well." He paused. "It's kind of bad. Sam's started...drinking demon blood again. We had a fight. He booked out of here and hasn't been back."

He had expected a gasp, a flurry of denials, worry. What he didn't expect was Charlie saying, low and slow, "I know."

He blinked, frowned, turned to look at Cas. "Sorry, didn't quite get that." Oh, he had heard it - he just didn't believe it.

She sighed and said, more firmly, "I know, Dean. It's why I left, to try to find some way to help him."

"You knew." His voice was hard. Cas looked startled, and mouthed, "She _knew_?!"

She was silent. He went on, anger rising. "You _knew_ and you just hared off without bothering to mention that one important fact."

"Dean. What would you have done?" She echoed Sam from yesterday. "Probably just exactly what you did. Y'know, I love you and Sam to pieces, you're like my big brothers, but you two have the most - most - well! You just don't talk to each other, you keep things secret, and stuff just gets more and more - pressurized! Like a pressure cooker! That's about to explode! And then it does, and then you act all surprised and hurt and angry! For a pair of geniuses, you're just darned stupid sometimes!"

Dean blinked again, his anger derailed for a moment. "Can you track him?" he finally asked.

"Well, sure, and you can, too - all you need is his cell phone -"

"Did that already, kiddo. He's ditched it."

"Oh. Well." She sounded deflated. Then she cheered up again. "Aliases! You know his aliases, right? We can put a notification that pings us when he uses one of those credit cards!"

"Hunh. I'll bet you anything that he's dumped those, too, and is using an ID I don't know."

She sighed. He could picture her slumping down in defeat, just like he felt. "Darn. Well, we could always hack into the FBI, send out an APB..." Her voice was dubious.

"It might work. The problem is those things hang up in police stations on bulletin boards forever. Not good, afterwards. After we clean up this mess. We don't want that out there."

She sighed again. "Then I've got no great ideas. Sorry, Dean."

They were both silent for a minute. Finally, Dean said, "Well. If he calls..."

" - I'll grab his number. You got it. And I'm working on some things. I really _am_ looking for the Book of the Saved - it's just that I had a real reason to do it, not just oh, coolio, let's get that for our collection! It might have something that can help. And I talked to Dani, and she's digging some stuff up, too. So we're doing things, Dean!"

She meant it as reassurance, but it was pretty nebulous. What he wanted was to know where Sam was, right now, so he could collect him by the scruff of his neck, put him in an isolation chamber or something for a few weeks.

"Yeah, gotcha, kiddo. Talk to you later."

"I love you!" she said. He snorted, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

"I know," he finished their geeky pass-phrase and ended the call. Then he just looked at Cas. Cas raised his eyebrows.

"Well?"

"Charlie knew already."

"I'd gathered that."

"She snarked about Sam and me and keeping secrets."

"Good for her!" Cas nodded approval. Dean frowned at him. "What? You two have the most - most - well. Sometimes, you and Sam just don't...communicate very well," he ended weakly.

Dean growled.

* * *

Dinner at the Tree Bistro was delicious: cassoulet for Crowley, a variety of appetizers and a spinach salad for Dani. While sharing the truffle fries, Crowley quizzed her a bit more on Charlie's commission, but, again, Dani deflected him.

"Look. When I say consultant-client confidentiality, I mean it. I can't talk about it." Dani frowned at him. "You can't have everything, you know."

He quirked his eyebrows at her with a one-sided smile. "I can try, Dani-girl." He sipped his scotch, put it down, and frowned slightly down at the table. "I do have a reason, pet. You see, now that we've booted Lucy out of the Moose, it's time for me to start working on regaining control of Hell. And I need you, kitten, to be doing some research for me. Specifically, who the current front-runners are, who's supporting them, how strong they are. And..." He paused.

"And..." she prompted.

"Well. There will be people who want to kill me, darling. I can't have that. Too distracting. So I need two spells. First, a way to protect me from summonings."

Dani raised her eyebrows. "Hunh. Now that's an interesting proposition."

"Indeed! Second, I need a way to...erm...hijack someone else's power. Preferably from a distance. It would be quite amusing to use one contender's power to crush another, don't you think?" He smirked and his eyes gleamed at the thought. She blinked at him.

"Two interesting propositions! Well! But..." She paused, her eyebrows twitching into a questioning frown. "...I thought you had decided you didn't really like being king. All that bureaucracy, and dealing with decrees and petty disputes..."

He lifted his glass, took another sip, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his legs. " _Someone_ has to do it! pet. Might as well be me." One leg brushed against her foot, and he started gliding his foot up and down her ankle. She shivered, and his eyelids drooped. He murmured, "Maybe we could forget the theater...?"

She pulled her foot back abruptly. "I want to see the play!" she protested.

He sighed and pouted for a moment.

* * *

"Hamilton" had been grand. As always, Crowley was in heaven - he loved Broadway musicals. They then headed off to The Living Room Bar for after-theater drinks.

It had been a wonderful evening, despite Innie-Me's misgivings.

 _~~remember what happened last time...~~_

 _That was then. Lucifer was yanking his chain. There's nothing like that going on now._

 _~~i worry, that's all. also, i worry about stuff like flashbacks.~~_

 _It's fine. I'm fine. Relax. I'll let you out for cookies tomorrow morning if you'll stop fussing._

 _~~i should never have let you know about the cookie thing.~~_

Crowley and Dani were feeding each other bites of the chocolate layer cake, heads close together, when a warm, husky voice declared, "Oh, but this is just charming, Crowley!"

Dani got a good view of the woman as she circled around to face them, her hand gliding across Crowley's shoulder. The first thing she noticed was the long waterfall of carefully casual jet black curls. Then the high-cheekboned face, the smoky golden eyes, the dusky skin, the vivid red lipstick outlining her full lips. She was tall, slender, busty, dressed in a skin-tight little black dress, wearing just enough jewelry, and very high heels.

 _~~whoa.~~_

Crowley leaned back, cocked an amused smile at the woman, and caroled out, "Jemma! Darling!" He reached up to clasp her hand and drew her into a side hug, kissing the cheek she presented.

"Ah, good. I see you remember who you are this time. And..." She looked at his wrists. "No more binding! How delightful!"

Crowley smiled at Dani. "All thanks to my new...head research honcho...here. Dani, Jemma; Jemma, Dani."

Jemma took Dani's hand in hers and smiled slowly. "Well! Very impressive. That binding and the amnesia spell were simply dreadful. None of us had any idea of how to help our poor king escape Lucifer."

 _~~ah. demon. there sure are a lot of you.~~_

Dani blinked. She murmured polite greetings, thanking Jemma for the compliment. For the first time in a long time, she suddenly felt awkward, gauche, _cute_. This woman made her feel small, just by existing. But. She had done what no-one else could: broken the binding, not just on Crowley, but also on Sam Winchester, and made it possible for them to decant Lucifer from his vessel. Knowing that made her feel more confident.

 _~~and it damn well should. you're being mighty quiet.~~_

"Jemma here was one of my ministers. I can't remember of what," Crowley said lightly. Dani saw Jemma's eyes flicker slightly.

"Oh, sweet thing, it doesn't matter! Now that you're back...you _are_ back, yes? Things are just hellish in Hell - first with Lucifer's purge, now everything's just chaos. Some of us escaped the first, but the second - ugh. Do come back, and let me help you." Jemma draped herself on Crowley's shoulder.

Dani abruptly excused herself, offering the ladies' room as an excuse. She walked off, a small frown on her face.

 _~~hellooooo...~~_

 _..._

 _~~talk.~~_

 _Nothing to talk about._

 _~~oh, yeah. gorgeous natasha shows up, falls all over pig bastard, cooing and being handsy, and there's nothing to talk about. right.~~_

For the first time in weeks, Dani pushed innie-Me down.

* * *

"What a delightful young thing, Crowley! Where did you find her?" Jemma appropriated the chair Dani had vacated. "Just a baby! Not your type at all."

Crowley smiled slightly, watching Dani walk away. "She found me. Offered her services as an occult researcher. And an excellent investment she turned out to be." He returned his attention to Jemma.

"So, pet. Yes, I am planning to take back Hell. Are you in or out?" He gave her a calculating look. "I can always use support."

Jemma threw back her head and laughed. "Of course, love! We all just want someone...strong...back in charge." She ran a hand slowly through the hair cascading down beside her ear and smiled at him. "And you were always...strong."

He leaned back in his chair, sipped his scotch, and smiled toothily back at her, eyelids drooping, eyes gleaming.

"Don't play your games with me, Jemma," he drawled. Then his smile drained away, and he said, in a flat voice, "And don't touch my Dani-girl."

"Darling! I wouldn't dream of it!" she answered lightly.


	5. Highway To Hell (ACDC)

"He needs equipment, clothes, supplies. So we check the surplus stores first." Dean nodded his head at the large log cabin housing Mohawk Army Navy Surplus. "If they didn't see him here, we'll check the others. So. Got your FBI badge?"

Cas nodded, peering at the store. "Of course." He fumbled in his suit jacket pocket, pulled out the cheap wallet, flipped it open to show Dean. Dean sighed, and, as always, flipped it right-side up.

"Good man. Let's go."

* * *

"Hi, there. I'm Agent Dean Gagliardi, this is Agent Cas Greenwood." He pulled out his fake ID and nudged Cas with an elbow. Cas shook himself, got his out and flipped it open. Without bothering to look, Dean flipped it right-side up. Cas's mouth quirked in the tiniest of smiles, and he winked at the short, blond young man behind the counter. Some day, Dean would figure out that he did that deliberately.

After a beat, the young man smiled back at him and relaxed.

"How can I help you guys?"

"Well. We're trying to locate this man - " Dean unfolded a printed relatively recent photo of Sam, pushed it across the counter. "Nothing major, he's just a person of interest in a current investigation. Have you seen him? It would have been yesterday, possibly today..."

The cashier took one quick glance and nodded. "Oh, yeah, him. The giant."

Dean snorted. "Yup, that would be him."

"Yeah, yeah - he was here yesterday, got all kitted out. Backpack, sleeping bag, work boots, utility knife, camping stove - the works. Yesterday, around noon."

"That would mean we're a day behind him," Cas murmured. He asked more loudly, "Did he say where he was going, or did you see anything that would maybe set us on the right path? And did he pay by credit card?"

"Well...yeah, to both. See, he was just so...tall. It was amazing." The cashier looked wistful. "Life as a short man...well, you guys wouldn't know, but I just get a little...um...jealous of really tall guys..." He blushed and looked down at the counter. "Kinda silly, I know. But I pay attention, y'see? So he piles into a rental car after he leaves here, one of Jimmy's, over at the Budget shop. And I got yesterday's credit charges on a printout here." He rummaged under the counter, pulled out a printout, tapped one name. "That's him."

Dean and Cas noted the name. Dean chewed his lips thoughtfully for a moment, then held out his hand. "Thanks for the help - " He checked out the young man's name tag. "Joe." Joe shook his hand. "Where do we find the Budget rental place?"

As they were getting back in the car, he said to Cas, "He's not going to use that name for long, you know."

Cas stared sightlessly out the window. "But still...he probably used it at the rental place, yes?"

Jimmy at the Budget Rental shop was irate. "Dude just _abandoned_ the damned car in the middle of nowhere! Do y'know how much that costs, if we don't get lucky, like we did this time? Car sits out on the road for a few days, we get the rental money still, yeah, but it's one less in inventory, and the cops find, tag, and tow, and we have to _pay_ for all that, dammit!"

"You said you got lucky...?" Dean prompted.

"Yeah, yeah, old man Weezerhuss, he came by, told me this dude claimed the car - my _brand-new_ car! - had just stopped running, and got a ride from Weezer to Herkimer. My car! Not running! Bullshit!" Jimmy shook an angry finger at Dean. "My cars are in great running order, thank you very much, and I don't appreciate some dude giving my stock a bad name! Weezer'll have it all over town in a day! Goddammit!"

Dean snorted softly. "Well, I'm sure you'll take care of that real soon, Jimmy. Herkimer, you say?"

"Yeah. You track that asshole down, you bring him around here, lemme give him a piece of my mind!"

Back in the car, Dean smiled grimly, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "Herkimer. Heading west."

"So far," Cas cautioned.

"Yeah. If he's hitching rides, that'll slow him down. Herkimer, here we come!"

* * *

It was dusk, and pretty soon he'd have to give up the search for another ride and just set up camp off the road in the snow-covered farmland. It had been cold all day, and would be even colder in the night - it would have been nice to get a ride to someplace with cheap motels. He'd gotten rides all the way to Bristol, and tried three truck drivers at the rest stop near there, but his two-day scruff and size seemed to have put them off, so he had finally shrugged, shouldered the backpack, and started walking south on Indiana 15.

The new boots he had gotten at the surplus store had begun to chafe at his feet; he wished he had had time to break them in a bit. He needed to find a place to settle down for a while, and fairly quickly, because if he knew Dean, he and Cas were already hot on his trail. The ride further west, to Elkhart, and then doubling back, would throw them off for a while, but still...

He heard the distant rumble of a truck, and turned, walking backwards, thumb out.

The semi slowed down, pulled to the side of the road, and the driver poked his head out to call, "Where ya headed, son?"

"Marion," Sam replied.

"Hunh. Well, I'm headed that way, may stop in Warsaw for the night, but you're welcome to ride as far as I go."

"Thanks!"

He walked around the front of the semi, climbed in. It was warm and toasty in the cab, and after strapping in, he leaned forward and rubbed his hands in the hot air streaming out of the passenger side vents.

"Cold out there," the trucker commented. "I'm Daniel." He held out his hand.

"Sam," he replied, shaking the offered hand.

Daniel looked back down the highway, signaled, carefully pulled out, and the semi slowly began picking up speed. "So Marion, eh? What's in Marion for ya, kid?"

Sam looked out the window at the dimming countryside. "My sister used to live there." His years of hunting made ad hoc lying quick and easy. "She said it was pretty nice. I'm just looking for a change."

"So you got no-one there? Hunh..."

"No, sir. Just sort of drifting. Looking for a place to settle down that isn't a big city."

"Hmmm. Drifting ain't no kinda life, boy."

"Yeah, I know." He slouched down in the seat, pretending to drift off to sleep. He really didn't want to get involved in a "you need to settle down" conversation from some concerned older guy. What he did want, and soon, was another dose of Crowley's blood; he was beginning to feel antsy. He needed a spot to stay for a few days, or something even more long-term, before he caved in. Hopefully soon.

Daniel flipped on the radio to a country station and began humming. Sam found himself drowsing off.

It was the sound of the engine slowing down that woke him. It was dark out, and Daniel was pulling into a picnic pull-off. The brakes squealed further, the truck came to a stop, and Daniel turned the engine off. Sam glanced over at him, muddled, and realized he was using the other-sight. He was about to switch to true-sight when he paused.

Daniel wasn't glowing blue.

Daniel was glowing a kind of shimmery gray.

A pulse of adrenaline raced through his body. Not blue equalled not human. Not human equalled monster of some kind. He silently damned himself for saying he was a drifter, he should have said he was meeting up with his fake sister - this guy probably picked up hitchhikers all the time, checked to be sure no-one would miss them, then...what?

"Hunh. What...what's up, Daniel?" he murmured sleepily, shifting around to conceal that he was quietly reaching behind his back for the demon knife.

Daniel turned to look at him, smiling. His mouth was full of multiple rows of very sharp teeth. "Dinner time, boy!"

Sam's eyes widened. Vampire. Shit. Vampires needed beheading; the demon knife was sharp and silver, and could take care of a lot more than just demons, but what you really needed for a vamp was a machete. He just had to do with what he had to hand.

He lunged forward, hoping to take Daniel off-guard, but was caught off-guard himself when the safety belt he had forgotten snapped locked, aborting his attack. He snarled, and fumbled with the belt button to unlock it, but this was wasting precious seconds. Daniel had flinched at his lunge, but was now smirking and taking his time. Playing with his food.

Sam was beginning to panic: the belt buckle was proving recalcitrant, and he was a sitting target. He watched Daniel move toward him behind his shimmery grey net of energy when it suddenly struck him: he could use his power to kill demons, pull the souls from human bodies - what was to stop him doing the same thing here?

He drew a deep breath, concentrated, and reached out, plucking at the nearest line of Daniel's net. It stretched, pulling at the lines it attached to. The entire net of energy was slipping loose, and the knot of grey at the center, which Sam supposed was Daniel's "soul", was distorted, shifting from the center.

Daniel's eyes widened, and he started plucking at his arms, his chest, his face paling.

"What - what - what the _fuck_ are you doing, dammit?!" he screeched, his voice shaking. Sam concentrated on pulling. "Stop! What are you, you freak?! _STOP_!" And then his body convulsed and his voice quieted, and Sam was left with a handful of squirming, roiling, shimmering gray. He looked at it thoughtfully, keeping it confined in both hands, and looked at the ambient energy webworks around him. Now, if this were a demon, he would twist the energy web _here_ , to send the demon to Hell, but this fellow...

He spotted a different crack in the web, and pulled at it with a fingertip. The crack widened, shimmered gray, and Sam quickly stuffed the handful of energy through the crack, then pulled it together again.

Then he switched to normal sight, sat back in the passenger seat, and huffed several quick, snorting breaths, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. His hands were shaking more from adrenaline than from need for blood at the moment.

So now he was left in a silent semi-truck, with a dead body for companionship.

Great. Just great.

* * *

Dani was curled up on her sofa, tablet in hand, wading through the forums on Demon-dot-Net, collecting rumors, making hash marks by names as she read. She was so involved that the puff of air moving didn't register, so that when Crowley tweaked at the hair on her neck, she squeaked and sat straight up, heart pounding.

"Dani-girl!" He grinned at her and stayed leaning on the sofa, his head close to hers. "I can always tell when you're deep in your research, darling."

"Don't _do_ that!" she hissed, annoyed. But that smile, those eyes looking into hers...her heart started pounding for a different reason.

"Why not, pet? It's great fun." He reached forward, pulled her back against the sofa, and kissed her, a long, slow, languorous kiss. Then he pulled away, patted her cheek sharply, and straightened up. "Alas, business first. Names. I need names."

She caught her breath. "Bah. Don't do _that_ , either; it's...it's unfair."

He tilted his head and smiled slowly at her. "What, make you all hot and bothered and then talk business? That's great fun, too."

She folded her lips and glared at him. "Bloody tease."

"That's me, darling." He flicked up an ironic eyebrow. "Now: names. I'm about to have a meeting with a group of old...friends, and need to know if any of them is making a move."

She handed him the list. "Number one in the rumor mill is Jackson."

He grimaced. "Bollocks. I was expecting him to be loyal. That's actually a surprise." He scanned down the list, folded it up and stashed it in his jacket pocket. Then he leaned back down, drew his thumb down her cheekbone and across her lips. She shivered, and he smiled slowly again. "I'll see you after the meeting, Dani-girl."

Then he vanished again.

 _~~control. dude is all about control.~~_

 _Oh, shut up._

 _~~think he plays these kinds of games with that Jemma woman?~~_

Dani folded her lips angrily and didn't reply.

* * *

The men and women gathered together in the conference room were a varied lot. One grandmotherly type sat back and crocheted a doily while darting glances around the table. A beer-bellied man in a too-tight T-shirt with a reversed ball cap on his balding head rocked back and forth in his chair. A mid-twenties woman with long, straight black hair, in a tank top and mini skirt, huddled uncertainly in hers. A tall, elderly gentleman in a suit with shiny patches sat perched precisely on the edge of his seat, his hands folded on the table in front of him. There were others.

They all knew each other. They hadn't seen each other in seven months, since the purge. A few that they might have expected to see were long-since dead as a result of that. Being back in the same room together made each of them nervous.

The conference room doors opened, and a short, sturdy man dressed in a black suit, black shirt with a subtle black brocade pattern, with short thinning black hair and a black beard strolled in, and eyes widened in shock around the table.

* * *

"Hello, darlings," Crowley greeted them jovially. "Well! All my very best minions - the ones left, that is - back together again!" He smiled gently, sweeping them with a satisfied look.

Beer-belly croaked, "But - but - you're dead!"

Heads nodded.

"Rumors of my demise...blah, blah, blah," he said, peering down at his jacket sleeve and dusting off a bit of imaginary dust. "I _was_ dead, Lucifer brought me back, and in return I kicked him out of his vessel." No need to tell them that he was only part of a team that managed that particular feat; much better to have them cowed by his abilities. As always. Remarkable what reputation, theatricality, and a little PR could do.

He started sauntering around the table.

The elderly gentleman looked up. "How do we know you're actually Crowley and not some trick of Lucifer's?" He looked around the table at the others. "We all heard the rumors - that you were in the Men of Letters bunker when it blew up. We all ran when Lucifer took control. Most of us have been in hiding for months." More nods. "What better way to get rid of us?"

Crowley closed his eyes in resigned irritation, shook his head, sighed softly, then looked at him. "Moron," he said acidly. "If this were a trick, Jackson - which, I assure you, it isn't - you'd all be dead by now, no need for a fake Crowley to hold your attention for a few moments." He paused. "Right?" A few eyes narrowed, a few lips pursed thoughtfully. He had timed his sauntering so that he stood behind Jackson as he finished speaking; he leaned down and whispered, "Jackson, darling. So just why did you come? Surely you'd know I knew you were angling for my place?" Jackson stiffened. Without hesitation, Crowley reached into his suit jacket, pulled out his angel blade, and nonchalantly stabbed him in the back. Reddish demon death light flickered in the elderly man's eyes, poured from his mouth, spidered around his skull, and the sound of a short-circuit sputtering echoed softly through the room. The others at the table froze. Crowley gave the body's shoulder a gentle push, and it slumped down onto the table with a clunk as the head landed.

"I'm Crowley. Accept no substitutes." He pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the blood off the blade, and continued strolling toward the empty seat at the head of the table. "Objections, anyone? Concerns?" He raised his eyebrows in gentle inquiry, looking around. Nobody said a word. "No-one? Good." He had arrived at the empty chair. He pulled it out, sat down, crossed his legs, and leaned back, elbows on the chair's arms, fingertips tapping together thoughtfully. Everyone was focused on him. He smiled slowly.

"So! You all may wonder why I've called you here today..." His lips twitched in amusement at the cliched phrase. He leaned forward, arms on the table. "Now that Lucifer's out of the picture, it's time to take charge again. What I need is information - who the key players are. Talk, kittens." He leaned back again, making a gesture of invitation. The others exchanged looks, many relaxed back into their own seats, some smiled. A few began to diffidently offer up rumors they had heard.


	6. Firework (Katy Perry)

When they came up with nothing at every truck stop in or around Gary, Dean finally admitted defeat. The last confirmed sighting of Sam they had was from a rest area on the very eastern edge of Indiana. Somewhere in between, Sam had ditched the expressway, and they had no idea where. He sighed and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel.

"Awesome. We've lost him. For all we know, he could have angled down to Fort Wayne and caught a flight anywhere in the US." He gritted his teeth and thumped his fist against the dashboard.

"Or he could have gone south or north, stopped in a small town in Indiana or Michigan somewhere," Cas mused, peering down at the road map in his lap.

Dean turned his head and glared at him. "Dude. You don't get it. We've hit a brick wall. We can't start checking everywhere south or north of 80. If he did that...well, there are a helluva lot of small towns around here. We can't check them all. It'd take forever. And the longer it takes..." He trailed off, sat up, and hit the dashboard again. " _Dammit!_ Right now, Cas, that angel warding on our ribs is more trouble than it's worth!"

Cas pressed his lips together. "It's not something you can turn on and off like a light switch, Dean." He sounded testy and tired.

Dean waved a hand. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. Sorry. I'm just...dammit! Why did I have to go off on him?!"

Cas rested a hand on his shoulder. "You were scared. Worried. And I've learned that humans tend to get angry when people they love are in trouble."

"Yeah. Right. Great. It's human. Doesn't excuse it. He needed _help_ , not a fist in the face."

Cas shook him gently. " _Enough_! Enough, Dean."

Dean shook his reassuring hand off impatiently. "I'm supposed to watch out for him. All my life. One main job. 'Keep Sammy safe.'" He slumped against the seat back, closed his eyes, and sighed again. After a moment, he muttered, "So. Any bright ideas?"

Cas stared sightlessly out the windshield, thinking. "Demon blood...that means he needs demons. Perhaps we should concentrate on that end, seek out, say, a steady supply of demons he could...use..."

Dean flicked a glance his way, with a small shudder of distaste. "'He could use'...damn, that sounds..." He waved his hands wordlessly.

"Evil," Cas finished for him. "Yes." He was quiet for a while. "Most other addictions do not require harming someone to fulfill. Any harm is mostly done as a side effect. This one, however..." He frowned sadly.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut in pain. "Cas. Just stop. Bright ideas, remember? I don't want to dissect my brother's addiction. I just want to find him and dry him out."

Cas nodded slowly. "Understood. My apologies. As I was saying, a place that has many demons might be a place to look." He paused, thought a little more. "And perhaps Crowley might have some information, such as demons unexpectedly gone missing. You might give him a call..." He angled his vivid blue eyes, one eyebrow tilted, at Dean, who frowned, then shrugged and reached into his jeans pocket for his phone.

"Worth a try."

* * *

Davis was caramelizing the _creme brûlées_ for dessert when Crowley's phone rang. His lips twitched into a slight frown, and he awkwardly retrieved the phone while continuing to aim the cooking blow torch.

"Crowley's phone, this is - "

"This isn't Crowley. Who is this?" a rough, deep voice interrupted. Davis sighed very softly.

"This is Davis. Crowley is not to be disturbed right at the moment. How may I help you?"

"Oh, yeah, right: Davis. First time I've talked to you. Look, you can't help; I need to talk with the man himself. Uh, Dean Winchester."

Davis's eyebrows flicked up in surprise. This was the infamous Dean Winchester, one of the stars of the Apocalypse and _the_ star of Crowley's gossip-provoking bromance last year. Well! Crowley had left a very short list of names he was to be interrupted for, and this man's name was number two. His brother's was the first name. "Right away, sir."

He walked sedately into the dining room, carrying the _creme brûlées_ and phone on a tray. He slid one of the desserts in front of Miss Dani with a small private smile; her lips twitched in a discreet return smile. He approved of Miss Dani, much more than "Lady" Jemma. The thought of that. - well, _not_ a "lady" - made him fold his lips as he slid the other dessert and the phone in front of Crowley.

"Dean Winchester, sir," he murmured.

"Off you go, Davis," Crowley snapped as he picked up the phone.

Davis retreated, curious. Why on earth would talking to the elder Winchester brother irritate him? Dean Winchester was the closest thing he had to a friend.

* * *

"Squirrel, sweetheart! What's up?" Crowley sang out.

Dani lifted her eyebrows inquiringly, and Crowley mouthed, "Later," at her.

"Really...And you think I can help you locate him, why?" He paused to take a spoonful of the _creme brûlée,_ nodding and murmuring noncommittally while he ate. "Demon blood?! Goodness! Again? Well. Dreadful." His lips twitched in a tiny smile; Dani frowned thoughtfully, head down, focusing on her dessert. "Oh, I'll be sure to let you know if anything unusual turns up. Of course! Always happy to be of service, Squirrel! Cheers!" He hung up.

Dani frowned even more. She _knew_ him by now, and knew when he was skirting a subject. He didn't lie, he was proud of that. Oh, no, not exactly; he just...redirected. Or changed the subject.

She sort of liked both the Winchesters. Dean was twitchy and suspicious - especially after his angel boyfriend had revealed that she was a demon - but he had reason to be. Sam had turned out to be as much of a research-lover as she was. And they were both excruciatingly sexy; very tempting, if she weren't with Crowley. Anyway, if he was sliding around the subject, that meant he had a scheme in mind, or knew more than he was letting on, and that scheme involved the Winchesters.

"So what did he want?" she asked with simulated mild interest.

"Hmm? Oh! It seems that Moose has relapsed, drinking demon blood again. And he's gone missing. Such a shame." There was that fleeting, tiny smile - barely a twitch of the lips - again.

 _~~so what's pb's game?~~_

 _Dunno._

 _~~asshole has something going on...~~_

 _Yes. That's obvious. But what?_

 _~~if you're helping charlie with sam winchester's problem, you might end up working against him, y'know. that could be...problematic. you remember how he is about "betrayal"...~~_

 _Vividly._

 _~~maybe you should back out of helping charlie? play it safe?~~_

She shook her head. Crowley lifted an eyebrow. "What are you and Danielle gossiping about now?"

"Sam Winchester, of course. I'm telling her about how Ruby lured him into the addiction to control him and guide him to break the final seal by killing Lilith, and how it helps him use his psychic powers..." Technically, since she said it in present tense, she wasn't lying.

 _~~ooooohhhh! i see. hmmm. how can pb use that information?~~_

 _Dunno._

She smiled. "Look. Innie-Me is constantly asking questions. Like a cat, full of curiosity." She ate the last bite of her _brûlée_ and stood up, laying her napkin down. She walked around the table, slid her hips onto it beside him, and eyed his unfinished dessert. "Davis has outdone himself. Are you going to finish that?" she hinted.

He picked up the spoon again, scooped a small bit, and dangled it temptingly before her with a wicked smile, eyes glinting. "Maybe." He ate the bite, holding her eyes while he slid the spoon slowly out from between his lips. "Maybe not. It's up to you, pet." He winked.

She snorted, and leaned forward, arms resting on his shoulders. She ran her hands gently through his thinning hair, pushing it off his forehead. Then she moved her head closer, lips beside his ear, and murmured softly, "You don't have to bribe me, y'know."

He turned his head, his lips brushing hers very lightly, eyelids drooping. "I was thinking more of _trading_...things...for each bite."

"Hmmm...Kisses?"

"More. Of course." He stood up, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her up with him. He dropped the spoon into the _brûlée_ , picked up the ramekin, and started guiding her out of the dining room. "Shall we discuss terms?"

* * *

Dean switched off his phone and pocketed it, drumming thoughtful fingers on the steering wheel. He looked at Cas.

"That slimy, manipulative douchebag knows something."

"What?"

"Hell if I know. But I _do_ know Crowley. He's got some con going on, I'm sure of it. Hunh," he grunted. He leaned forward, switched on the ignition. "Well. Let's find a spot for the night and start looking for demon conventions."

* * *

After he recovered from the adrenaline of the fight, and finally steadied his hands enough to handle the buckle on the safety belt, he checked Daniel's mouth. He sank back in relief when he saw that the fangs had withdrawn into the gums with his death. It would be newsworthy for the highway patrol to find a dead trucker with a mouthful of sharp teeth, and would definitely trigger an autopsy. There was no way for Sam to know just what exactly his powers had done to the interior of Daniel's body while he was pulling out his soul; best not to have the authorities be the ones who found out. Outwardly, though, the body showed no signs of violence - he looked like he had died of a heart attack.

Sam sat back in the passenger seat and folded his arms while he pondered what to do. He could just start walking south again, hoping for another ride, of course. Leave the semi where it was, with Daniel's body. But it was cold out, and dark, it had started snowing again, and his feet hurt.

He turned on the cab light and climbed back to investigate the sleeping berth.

It turned out to be surprisingly luxurious: it had a full - though small - kitchen, shower, flat screen TV mounted above the microwave, and even a gas fireplace, which Sam quickly lit to beat back the early December chill. The insulated blackout partition between the front seats and the berth would keep the heat out of the cab, so Daniel's body was not likely to start smelling too soon. One night, here in the comfort of Daniel's custom sleeping berth...that would be okay.

He sat down on the bed and leaned his head against the wall with a long sigh. Then he snagged the backpack and pulled it toward himself, reaching in for the thermos. The highway patrol wouldn't investigate the semi for at least a day, so he had time to...indulge.

First, though, he needed food. He stood up and rummaged through the small cupboards and the fridge. Luckily, it seemed that Daniel was one of those vampires who still liked to eat real food; there was plenty to eat. Not necessarily _nutritious_ food, mostly snack-type things. But it would do.

* * *

He was outside, sitting on a camp stool. He had no memory of leaving the cab of the truck. He had a vague memory of eating. But now...now, he was out in the cold and the snow, with the amplified other-sight showing him the electrical underpinnings of the clouds, and behind that, further up, the shimmering dance of the Van Allen Belt, waving and folding in upon itself with showers of sparks sliding down the folds.

He stared upward in awe, delighting in the show.

After a while, he focused closer in, at the lowering clouds. He smiled drowsily, and twitched a hand, herding the electricity back and forth within the clouds above him, then, as an experiment, began pushing the white sparks together in one spot. His glance flicked down to the farmland below, where sparks of a slightly different color were slowly flowing across the ground, and his eyes danced with mischief. He started guiding the sparks, using his mind to bend them into a knot beneath the cloud. More and more sparks started moving toward that spot, flowing like water, and they began piling up, reaching ever so slightly upward from the field.

He could feel it now, the gathering electric charge. The hair on his arms stood up, outlined with sparkling light. He returned his attention to the knot of energy in the cloud, and swept more toward the knot, until...

With a searing flash of light and a roaring crack of thunder, the energy in the cloud surged down to meet the heap of oppositely charged particles Sam had collected on the ground.

He stood up, elated, punching a fist into the air, shouting an exultant, " _YES_!" He spread his arms, tilted his head back, and laughed with utter and absolute delight, spinning around in a giddy dance, the snow blowing around him.

Without warning, another lightning bolt crashed into the field. And another, and another, until the air was filled with almost continuous overwhelming actinic light and echoing booms. The fat white snowflakes whirling around him began mixing with red and black, and Sam was abruptly no longer drowsy, no longer giddy. Adrenaline raced through him, blunting the high, as he realized that not only was the farm field before him on fire, but so were the snowflakes.

Well. Not snowflakes. Embers, swirling in the wind. And ashes. From the fire. Which was gaining strength as the lightning, out of control, kept slamming down, igniting the dead harvest leftovers that had been lying beneath the blanket of snow. The resulting flames were swirling higher and higher as he watched.

The blood drained from his face as he stared in horror at what he had done - was doing.

"Oh, _shit_!"

His shout of dismay was lost in the tempest.

"Shit, shit, shit, _SHIT_!" he chanted breathlessly as he scrambled into the cab, grabbed his backpack, stumbled back outside. He started running down the highway as fast as he could, glancing every back every few steps to watch the inferno behind him.

Luckily, the artificial storm was extremely localized. He slowed down, panting, as the roiling, vivid lightning bolts fell further and further behind. He finally stopped, bending over and heaving to catch his breath, a mile or so down the road, and just stared at the small disaster he had left behind him. While he watched, there was an explosion; the fire must have rolled over the semi, set it aflame.

 _He_ had done that. Just by fooling around with the power, playing like a kid. He was totally sober now, every trace of the exhilarating rush he got from drinking Crowley's blood scrubbed away by shock and guilt.

He had to learn how to control it. It was one thing to use it as a weapon. It was totally different if someone got hurt because he was playing around.

And he had to find some place to sleep.

He turned away, and started trudging southward again, folding his lips, thinking.


	7. Come With Me Now (Kongoes)

"Davis!"

Crowley waited a beat, but no response came, so he roared, " _DAVIS_!"

He cocked his head, waiting for Davis's reply. What he heard, instead, was muffled sounds: thumps, soft curses. He tilted a quizzical eyebrow up and smiled slightly, listening, then he started strolling to the other end of the condo. As he moved, the sounds got louder, until he stopped at the doorway where the hall opened up into the foyer.

Three men dressed in black surrounded Davis. One, eyes gleaming beetle black, had him in a choke hold with one arm, the other hand gripping his wrist to hold his angel blade out of the way. One of the other two was pummeling him, but Davis was using his free leg to kick back, try to hold him off. The third man danced around the outside, impatiently waiting for an opening.

"Davis, you slacker! Where's my dinner!" He pulled his own angel blade from its sheath in his suit jacket.

The two men facing Davis whirled around. Davis took advantage of the distraction to slam his foot into the back of the one who had been punching him, and he went staggering to the floor.

"My...apologies...sir...I am...a bit...preoccupied...at the moment," he gasped around the arm barring his throat.

"You! Unhand my butler!" Crowley snarled. The man who had been waiting for a chance to get at Davis advanced slowly on him, another angel blade in hand. When he got close enough, he darted in, blade slashing out. Crowley swayed aside, easily eluding the knife, and pivoted, digging his own blade squarely in his attacker's back. He pulled the blade out and spun back, quickly stooping to pin the fallen man to the floor through his shoulder. Then he straightened, flaring crossroads demon red at the man holding Davis, and slowly tightened his fist, raising it in the air. The man gasped, choked, rose into the air in concert with Crowley's hand. Crowley punched the air, and the man slammed back against the wall, releasing Davis, who dropped to the floor.

Crowley regarded the man he had pinned to the wall with mild interest, then swore as the man opened his mouth and smoked out, the black demon cloud swiftly slithering through one of the air vents.

"Bloody hell!" Crowley snarled as he watched the tail end of the smoke disappearing. He opened his hand, and the empty meat suit fell to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. He strode forward and offered a hand to Davis to help him up. Davis rose slowly, rubbing his neck.

"Many thanks, sir. I was expecting a delivery, and when I opened the door, these three pushed their way in - "

"Yes, no doubt," Crowley responded absently, squinting thoughtfully at the air vent and chewing his lips. Davis dusted himself off and resettled his suit fussily. Crowley focused back on him, blew out a breath, and said, "Well. Seems our little excitement for the night is done with." He was interrupted by a groan from the man pinned to the floor, and he turned his attention to him.

He sauntered over to stand over him with a thin smile. "So. What - who - do we have here, do you think, Davis?"

"I believe it is Broyle, sir," Davis answered neutrally.

"Why, yes!" Crowley smirked. "Our old friend Broyle." He squatted down beside Broyle, yanked out the angel blade, and held it dangling nonchalantly between his knees as he peered at him. "Dear me. You weren't at the meeting the other day, darling. I wonder why that is...?" He sighed. "Loyalty is a sadly neglected virtue these days, Davis." He shook his head mournfully, tsking. Broyle bared his teeth defiantly, then paled and winced. Crowley watched with mild interest, then, as Broyle opened his mouth, tilting his head back in preparation to smoking out, he snarled, "Oh, no you don't, pet!"

He reached out, ripped Broyle's shirt open, and swiftly began carving a sigil on his chest. Broyle's demon smoke, which had begun sliding out, sullenly withdrew back into his body, and Broyle glared up at him silently, trapped.

"Sir. The floor...?" Davis nodded his head at the blood. Crowley gave him an exasperated look, and snapped his fingers. The blood pooling beneath Broyle's body vanished.

"Better?" he asked acidly.

"Thank you, sir," Davis murmured.

Crowley knotted his fist in Broyle's collar and stood up, effortlessly dragging him to his feet. "Well. Shall we find out who sent you, darling? Hmmm?"

* * *

"This one certainly sounds like demon signs," Cas said, turning the laptop to face Dean. "A freak lightning storm set a farmer's field ablaze two nights ago. During a snowstorm. Very localized; the farmer's neighbors all saw it, but nothing happened anywhere else." Dean leaned forward, scanning the story with interest.

"Hunh! It's definitely _something_ , all right," he mused. "South of Bristol, off 80." He raised his head, looked at Cas significantly.

"We should go check...?" Cas half-stated, half-asked. He reached forward, placed his hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean jerked back, away from the hand. He knew what that meant.

"Dude. Car, not angel-hopping, dammit. Y'know what that does to my digestive system," he grumbled.

Cas sighed and closed his eyes in resignation. "It would be much faster."

"No. Car. It'll take less than two hours."

Cas folded his lips mulishly, then finally nodded agreement. "Very well. Since there is no urgency. But you _are_ the one who wanted to locate Sam quickly..." He let his voice trail off.

Dean glared back for a moment, then shook his head, smile breaking out. "How about a compromise? I drive, you angel-hop...? Though..." He sighed theatrically, and made a dramatically sad face. "It would be nice to have company..."

Cas rolled his eyes and stood up. "Very well. Car it is."

Dean beamed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Good man!"

* * *

"Hmmm. So what _is_ this interesting little mark, eh?" Crowley muttered, leaning in to peer at the small brand on Broyle's naked shoulder. Broyle just gritted his teeth and looked away. Crowley seized his chin in strong fingers, forcefully turning his head back to face him. He shook him gently. "No? Not going to say? Don't know? Which is it? Hmph." He snorted, pulled out his phone, and snapped a picture, then composed a message, attached the photo, and thumbed the "send" button. Then he waited, whistling tunelessly and rocking back and forth on his feet, watching Broyle.

His phone rang.

"Hello, Dani-girl...anything?" His voice was noticeably warmer than before, and he stepped away from the trussed-up demon.

"Aw, that was too easy! It's a very small, limited binding spell. Nothing like that thing you and Sam Winchester had. Lasts about a day. Allows the caster to specify one or two goals," she added.

"Hmmm," he murmured thoughtfully, turning around to eye Broyle. "And there I was thinking my sweetheart here did it all on his lonesome. Any way of knowing who cast it?"

"Um. No. Sorry, don't think so. The spell can be done from a distance, so the target won't know. And when it ends, the target's memories are erased. What's going on?" Her voice was concerned.

He chewed his lips. "We had some visitors. Roughed up my poor Davis."

" _Davis_?! Is he okay?!" She was alarmed. She was very fond of him.

He tilted up an amused eyebrow. "Davis is just fine, pet. You'll still be able to enjoy his culinary delights. He was a tad miffed about the blood on the floor, though."

"So...what? These 'visitors' just wanted to...what?" she asked.

"Well. I think I'll just have to ask my friend here, eh?" He smiled toothily at Broyle, who paled and looked away again.

"Um." She paused, then continued, slowly, "Please be careful...?"

"Tch. I always am, pet. I value myself too highly to be careless," he smirked.

* * *

The motel room smelled stale.

They always did, so it was nothing new. He merely added to the smell with the whiff of wet jeans and sodden jacket.

Sam slumped wearily on the bed, toweling his hair dry from the melting snow. He stretched out his long legs and glared at the work boots, then untied the laces and cautiously eased first one, then the other, off, pulled off the soggy socks, and wiggled his toes. No frostbite, just chilled enough so they were stiff and white. There was a series of blisters to add to his joy.

It had taken him hours of trudging through the slush and snow by the side of the highway, and two rides part of the way, to get here. It was nothing special, just your typical Midwestern small town, with a mix of classic older Victorian and Craftsman houses and newer, boring ranch-style neighborhoods. They did do it up right for Christmas, though - his second lift had rattled on about "Christmas City", and the cheery array of Christmas lights that greeted them as they drove into town had been welcoming.

Marion was just the right size, though, to find cheap longer-term lodging, get some kind of job, and figure out how to conquer the need for Crowley's blood and find some way to get back at him...without having to deal with Dean's irrational bias against his now-permanent powers.

Speaking of which...

He sighed and pulled out his phone. That incident - the lightning storm he had started just by playing around - made him nervous and wary. No matter how much it tempted him, he could do no playing with his power after he had some of the blood. That much was obvious. And he needed...

Training.

Someone to help him know the limits of his power. Someone with experience.

Unfortunately, there was only one person he knew like that. He didn't trust her at all, even though they had at least one goal in common. But. She had power, she knew how to use it, she might be able to teach him how to control his.

He bit his lip, narrowed his eyes, looked down at the phone. Then, with a long sigh, he started keying in the message:

"This is Sam Winchester. I need help. Can we meet?"

After a long moment, he hit "send".

* * *

Mendocino was a pleasant spot to meet with friends for coffee. There were artworks on the walls; bookcases scattered around filled with a diverse mix of thrillers, mysteries, science fiction, and natural history books; behind the bar were chalkboard signs ablaze with colorful drawings, wacky quotes, and weirdly named coffee drinks, draped with Tibetan prayer flags. An assortment of low tables was scattered across the floor, with an equally motley assortment of chairs, two or three to a table. A fire was crackling in the fireplace. It was all very comfortable, if a bit counter-culture cliche.

Dani and Charlie had easily grabbed two low armchairs at a wicker drum table for two off in a corner; it was mid-morning, and the cafe was almost deserted. Dani had a double espresso and macaroons; Charlie was sipping a chai latte. Their winter coats were slung over the backs of the chairs.

Charlie huddled forward, turning her cup thoughtfully in her hands, her short dark red curls drooping down and shadowing her face. "So you haven't had a chance to do any real digging yet?"

Dani slouched down a bit further in her seat, feeling obscurely guilty. "No. I'm sorry, Chaz - "

Charlie peered up at her through the veil of hair, eyes sparkling and a wide grin flickering across her lips. "Chaz? I like it! It's kind of...edgy!"

Dani folded her lips and glared fiercely. "Girl. I'm trying to apologize here. Crowley has me busy working on some things. Look. He gets priority, you know that. But I _have_ been looking into your questions, in and around his, and I've found some mentions of the Book of the Saved." Charlie glanced up eagerly. "It's nothing solid, mind you. But every mention of it says it's been placed in safekeeping. And two mentions say, 'ask the Reaper'."

Charlie sat up straight, brushed her hair back behind her ears with one hand, and looked at Dani with interest. "'The Reaper'? _Which_ Reaper? Aren't there oodles of them?"

Dani sighed and nibbled on a macaroon.

 _~~hellooooo...gonna let me at that cookie?~~_

 _Gimme a moment._

"They don't say. Just to ask him. Or her."

Charlie frowned. "Well. That's just great. They're invisible, right - they only show up to people who are dying?" Her eyes lit up. "Ahah! I can _pretend_ to be dying, and - "

Dani snickered. "Girl. You can't fool Reapers. You're either really dying, in which case they show up, or you're faking, and they don't. But! You _can_ summon a Reaper. I think. They seem to be some kind of angel, and we know how to summon and trap angels, so maybe we could try that..." She trailed off and began picking at her lips thoughtfully. "'Scuse me; I'm going to let Innie-Me out while I think a bit - I promised her this cookie."

With that, she dove down, letting Danielle take over.

 _Just long enough for that macaroon. I want to keep talking with Charlie._

Danielle reached out, grabbed the cookie, looked at it like a drowning man looks at a life preserver, and began slowly eating it, savoring every bite with little moans of pleasure. Charlie watched with interest.

"So Dani can still hear me, right?"

"Mmm hmmm," Danielle replied around a mouth full of coconut-y goodness.

"Well, I do have another possibility that I haven't mentioned yet, I just don't know, but I did want to talk with Dani about crossroads demons and how that whole thing works out - "

Danielle froze, eyes wide. "Um. Charlie - "

" - y'know, like, is it totally binding, or is there a way out of the agreement. And if it's as much like a genie's wish as it always sounded like - "

 _What?! Is she saying what I think she's saying? Dammit, Innie-Me, sorry girl, I've gotta interrupt your cookie orgasm and take over again._

 _~~yeah, i think she is, and, yeah, i think you do need to handle this...~~_

Danielle quickly finished the last bite of macaroon and relinquished control back to Dani.

"No."

Charlie frowned at her. "'No', what? No, it doesn't work like a genie's wish or, no, you can't waffle out, or - "

"Just _no_ , Charlie. Don't even think of it." Dani's voice was firm.

Charlie tossed her head. "Don't even think of what? I'm just interested - "

Dani rolled her eyes. "Don't kid a kidder, girl. And do _not_ , under any circumstances, make a crossroads demon deal."

"Why not?!" Charlie grumbled mutinously. " _You_ did! We could get Sam cured, boom, just like that! And it doesn't seem all that bad - look at you! Look at all the other demons! You're all doing fine!"

Dani closed her eyes, frustrated, then opened them again, leaned forward, and took Charlie's arm in a hard grip. "Listen to me," she hissed, flashing her beetle blacks. "You have no idea what it takes, what we're really like." She closed her eyes again, paling, remembering. "Girl. You're _good_ \- "

Charlie glared and folded her lips. "No, I'm not! I know what the dark side of me is like, remember? When I got split up by that Oz spell? I've got plenty of dark - "

Dani ground her teeth, and was about to continue to school this - this _innocent_! - on what a crossroads demon deal really entailed, when a hand came to rest on her shoulder. Startled, she looked around, to see Crowley standing behind her. He gave Charlie a fleeting, polite smile. "Miss Bradbury," he greeted her, then he looked back down at Dani with a serious face. "Dani. A word, if you please?" He jerked his head towards another table.

Dani's eyebrows twitched together, and she was about to ask him what was on his mind, when Charlie interrupted.

"See?! It's serendipity! Crowley, it's nice to see you; I have a proposition - "

Dani surged up out of her chair, leaned over, and placed an urgent hand over Charlie's mouth, stopping her. She frowned at Crowley and flapped her other hand at him to leave, hissing, "Go! _Now_! She's about to do something seriously stupid!" Crowley blinked, and, at the same time, Charlie managed to pull Dani's hand away.

"What, pray tell - " Crowley began, cocking an interested eyebrow.

At the same time, Charlie said loudly, stubbornly, "I know what I'm doing, darn it, Dani! I've thought about this a lot lately, and - "

"You haven't got a clue!" Dani shouted, frantic.

Crowley blinked again, and said, plaintively, "Will one of you two please tell me what's going on?"

Dani whirled on him angrily. "She's about to try to make a crossroads deal with you, that's what! So will you just _go_ , before she ruins her life for eternity?!" To her dismay, instead of leaving, he peered at Charlie with sharp interest, then grabbed a chair from the next table over, spun it around, took off his black overcoat, and settled himself comfortably in the chair, crossing his legs. He tilted his head, smiled welcomingly, and spread his hands in invitation.

"Charlie! Darling! Speak to me!" he smirked.

Dani opened her mouth, closed it, dropped back down into her own chair, and glared at him. Finally, she choked out, "No. Do _not_ do this."

He glanced at her, eyes dancing wickedly. "Why ever not, pet? This is so entertaining! Please, Miss Bradbury, let's hear your proposal."

Charlie bit her lip, nervously tucked her hair behind her ears again, shot a look at Dani, and then started, "Well. Sam. For some reason - probably just to mess with him, that seems to be something he would do! - Lucifer got him - re-awakened his demon blood addiction - well! Anyway. Sam's addicted to demon blood again." Dani leaned back in her chair, covering her face with a hand and shaking her head. Crowley just listened with polite interest and a slight smile. "So I asked Dani for help, to find a spell, something that would break the addiction, but she's been busy with your stuff - which is okay! I get it! - anyway - " She paused to catch her breath. "So while I was waiting for her to come up with something, I got to thinking, and remembered how you were able to get Death's location by Bobby Singer making a demon deal, and so I thought - "

Dani snorted softly, glared at Charlie again, and growled sarcastically, "You _thought_..."

Charlie frowned back at her. "I _thought_ I might be able to do a deal myself, get the addiction stopped." She sat back, drew a deep breath, and added, "So there you go!"

Crowley's expression hadn't changed during her recital, but now he looked at Dani, tilting an eyebrow up. "So. Dani-girl. I take it you do not want this to happen?" She blinked at him, and said slowly, cautiously, "Nooo. I don't. She hasn't the vaguest idea of what it really means, and has some hare-brained plan to weasel out of it - "

At that, Crowley turned to look at Charlie with a slow, toothy smile, eyelids drooping. He said evenly, "Oh, no, darling. It doesn't work like that. The deal, once it's made, is binding. Totally. No exit, pet."

Charlie flinched a bit. One tended to forget, with his playful snarkiness and elegant suits and charm, that he was the King of Hell. Okay, _former_ King of Hell. But right now, what he exuded was sheer danger.

Then he turned back to Dani and the moment passed. Charlie shivered and rubbed her arms.

He took Dani's hand, held it, ran a thumb across her palm. "If you don't want me to do this, Dani-girl, then I won't," he murmured softly.

Dani slumped in relief, smiling back at him. Charlie looked mulish. "If _you_ won't do it, I'll find someone who will," she said stubbornly.

Crowley looked at her again, raising his eyebrows. "No, you won't. I am the King of the Crossroads. What I say, goes, so if _I_ won't do it, no other crossroads demon will." He shrugged. "Sorry, pet."

Charlie frowned. "That is so - so - darn it! That's just unfair!"

"Life," Crowley said lightly, "is unfair, pet. Deal." He stood up, picked up his overcoat, and pulled Dani up by the hand he was still holding. "Now. As I was saying, I'd like to have a word with you. Privately. Cheers, Miss Bradbury!" He nodded politely, Dani grabbed her own coat, and he led her out of the cafe. Charlie sat and watched them go, still frowning.


	8. Power & Control (Marina & The Diamonds)

The door to the cafe opened with a gentle tinkling of the bells attached to it, and she swept in, dramatic as always. The floor-length dress was a vivid royal blue, the winter cloak was black, and her cat's-eye eye makeup was in colors to match. She paused at the doorway, head tilted haughtily, tiny, delicate nose poised in the air, and then she scanned the diners until she saw him.

 _That's where Crowley gets his flair for drama..._

Sam nodded, she nodded back, and glided towards the table. When she got there, she stood by the empty chair and waited a beat. When he didn't respond, she sniffed, and said in her lilting Scots accent, "Tch, Samuel. Where are your manners? Chair, please."

Sam rolled his eyes, but got up, rounded the table, and pulled out the chair for her. She swirled her cloak off, placing it on the third chair, and unconsciously smoothed her dress to emphasize her trim figure before deigning to sit in the chair and allow him to push it in. He sat back down, and they looked at each other warily for a moment. Then she picked up her napkin, flipped it open gracefully, placed it in her lap, and picked up the cup of tea he had ordered for her. Her long, slender pinkie finger jutted gracefully out a bit as she lifted the cup to her lips.

"Ach! Tea. Thank you, Samuel, for getting me a civilized drink." She gave his latte a slightly scornful look, then looked back up at him, her gaze sharpening. "'Tis Samuel now, indeed, yes, not - ?" She stopped.

He leaned back in his chair with a small, tight smile. "Not Lucifer. We kicked him out."

She raised her perfectly arched eyebrows. "Well! Quite an accomplishment, my boy! Really, I canna imagine just why such a strong young warrior as yourself needs my help. And we do have...unfinished business. My 'payment' for helping you with the Book of the Damned, for instance." She smiled sweetly at him, and he glowered back.

"Dean killed Crowley. I'd say you got your payment."

"But, Samuel! He came back, I hear! I want him _permanently_ dead!" There was a hint of steel in her soft voice.

He laughed, genuinely amused. "Rowena, I can kill him - and, oh, how I _want_ to kill him!" He bared his teeth momentarily. "But, given all the players on the board, there's no way I can guarantee he'll _stay_ dead." Which, he reflected, was an unfortunate truth that he had to keep in mind himself. Rowena frowned, looked down at her tea. "Lucifer brought him back, bound him, played with him as an errand boy." Rowena looked up at that, a small, malicious smile playing on her lips.

"Och! I'm sure that made my wee laddie _quite_ unhappy!" she murmured happily.

"He helped, y'know," Sam added, compelled to truthfulness. "Dean, Cas, Crowley, and Crowley's...friend, Dani - they all attacked Lucifer, gave me time to find a way to kick him out. So I owe him for that. But then he did something that more than wiped that debt out, so far as I'm concerned." He snapped his mouth shut angrily, drew a deep breath, and continued, aware that she was watching him with avid interest. "But that's not why I asked for your help."

Rowena leaned forward, elbows planted on the table, her sharp chin perched on her clasped hands. She smiled widely and tilted her head. "So, my boy, just why _do_ you need my help?"

He took a sip of his latte, then placed the cup gently back down on the table and started turning it in place, frowning down at it. He flicked a glance up at her from under his eyebrows, then returned his gaze to the cup, biting his lips. She sat silently, waiting.

"While Lucifer...had me...he...did things to me." She arched an inquiring eyebrow, but kept quiet. He concentrated on the cup. "I don't know if you know all our history...?" He looked up again, and she gave him an encouraging gesture to continue. He bit his lip, then went on. "I have these...abilities. Psychic abilities. We thought they were gone, after we stopped the Apocalypse. But somehow...Lucifer brought them back. And they're permanent. And..." He looked back up at her. This was amazingly difficult to talk about.

She was intrigued, and it showed. "And...?" she prompted him.

"Well. I need training," he blurted out. "I was...playing...and the power got out of control, and damaged...things. I need to learn how to control it. Even if I'm..." He paused, blushed, scrubbed a fist back and forth on the table, not looking at her. "Even if I'm...drunk..." he mumbled. He couldn't say the word "high", it was embarrassing enough to pretend it happened when he'd had too much to drink.

She leaned back and folded her arms, eyes sharp. She rubbed her lips with a pair of fingers while she thought.

"Well! This is certainly a different proposition!" she finally said. Then she smiled broadly and clasped her hands. "Oh, but 'twould be grand fun! An apprentice! I haven't had an apprentice in - well! Too long, for sure!" Then she leaned forward again, tapping one long fingernail on the table. "But the price is the same, darling boy. I want Crowley dead. Again. And if he comes _back_ again - ach, well, I'll just have to keep having him killed, is all."

Sam narrowed his eyes, chewed on his lips for a bit, then nodded decisively. "Agreed."

She laughed gently. "Well! Shall we celebrate, then? I saw some luscious lemon tarts in the display case, and I'm quite sure that you - being a giant and all - need some nourishment, too!" She winked and flagged down a waiter.

* * *

Dean pulled the car to a stop in the roadside picnic area, beside the charred hulk of the semi. He got out of the car and stood there, one arm on top of the car door, the other stretched along the car frame, and just stared at the expanse of burnt ground.

"Whoa."

Deputy Hermann, who had pulled in first and was walking over to join them, overheard him and nodded. "Yeah, 'whoa' is right. The damnedest thing. Just out of the blue." He looked over at Cas, who was standing beside the other side of the car. "Hey, Agent Elliot - I just realized you're Cas Elliot! Har! Mama Cass, eh?" He winked. Cas frowned slightly, looking out over the field of ashes, and murmured dryly, "My parents had an odd sense of humor." He slid a sardonic look at Dean, whose lips twitched in response.

"Hoo boy, yeah, I'd say!" He turned to Dean again. "So. John Groves said he'd meet us here - " He stopped as an older rusty pickup pulled up beside them. "And here he is. Heya, John!"

"Gordy," the burly man getting out of the truck greeted him. He walked up, hands stuffed in the pockets of his winter Carrhart jacket, and worked his jaws as he, too, looked out over the burned acreage. "Weird. Just mighty damned weird," he mused.

"John, these are the guys from the FBI I told you about; Dean Plant and Cas Elliot, this here's John Groves, he owns the land hereabouts."

Groves nodded at them. "Dunno why the FBI is here, it was just some freak storm. Too bad that guy got his truck caught up in it." He jerked his head at the semi.

Dean narrowed his eyes at it. "So did the fire get the truck, or did the truck start the fire?" he asked.

Cas had moved to the edge of the ashes, squatted down, and was rubbing a pinch of ash between his fingers, peering thoughtfully out over the field.

"Oh, no. Was the fire that got the truck," Groves answered definitely. "Weirdest thing. Y'ever been in a lightning storm in, like, the Rockies?" Dean glanced at him, nodded. "Yah. Well. It was like that, see? That feeling you get when there's so much electricity in the air that all your hair starts standing up, almost like goose flesh? Me 'n' Helen were driving through a storm like that one time, and her hair - long hair, y'know? - it just sort of started moving on its own, puffing apart, like every hair was tryin' t'git away from every other hair." He stopped, chewed, spit to the side, then continued, "Anyway. Was like that two nights ago. Then BLAM! Lightning strike. Close enough y'couldn't even count the seconds between lightning 'n' thunder. And then BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Over 'n' over again. And then the field caught fire. Good thing it didn't happen in, say, September, before harvest. I'd be cryin' to the FSA for sure. But no real damage, this time of year. 'Ceptin' that poor guy in the truck." He nodded at the semi.

Cas stood up, absently dusting the ash from his hands, and turned to Dean with a slight shake of his head. "Not demons," he said.

Dean closed his eyes in resignation, waiting for it.

"Demons?" Hermann asked, his voice skeptical.

"Uh. Yeah. Demons. New gang in Gary," Dean improvised. "We thought they might be branching out, it's their MO."

"Oh." Hermann sounded disappointed. Dean turned to him with a quizzical look. He blushed. "Aw, well. I was thinking, since it's so weird an all, and you're the FBI, that this was some kind of...of...well, X Files type thing, y'know?"

Dean narrowed his eyes, then said dryly, "Deputy Hermann, the X Files is _fiction_. This is reality." Hermann blushed again, and darted a glance at Groves. "But, since it's not related to the Demons, it's not in our purview after all." He clapped his hands together, held one out to shake Hermann's, and added, "So. Thank you very much for bringing us out here, having this chat. Most appreciated." He nodded to Groves. "And thank you, Mr. Groves. You've both been very helpful." Groves nodded back.

Dean slapped the roof of the car. "Cas? Let's go." Cas walked back to the car and got in, Dean gave the locals a friendly wave and got in himself, and they drove off in silence.

Finally, Dean said, "So. If it wasn't demons, then what was it?"

Cas looked out the passenger window silently.

"Hey. Yoohoo! Cas!"

Cas sighed and looked over at him. "Dean. Someone used power there, and it got out of control."

Dean clenched his jaw, focusing angrily on the road. "So. What are you saying?"

Cas sighed again. "I believe it may have been...Sam."

Dean flinched and paled, his hands flexing on the steering wheel. "Sam? Sam did _that_?"

Cas didn't answer.

"Sam? He caused that lightning storm? Killed that poor damned trucker? With his _power_?!"

"I believe so," Cas answered softly.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean hissed, slapping the steering wheel.

"Dean. I do not think it was deliberate. The description made it sound...like a runaway reaction."

"Well. _That's_ a real consolation," Dean muttered sarcastically. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on driving.

* * *

Crowley seized Dani's elbow in a strong grip as they left Mendocino, aiming her towards a nearby alley entrance. He was walking rapidly, eyes scanning for something.

He pushed her into the alley, away from outside eyes, and said peremptorily, "Flit. Your place."

He vanished. Her eyebrows twitched together in a small frown, then she shrugged and flitted, herself.

When she appeared in her nest, he was already in the kitchen, pouring himself some scotch. She followed him in, and leaned back against the island, folding her arms and frowning, still.

"What is this about?"

He looked down at the drink he was swirling in his hand, then glanced at her with narrowed eyes.

"We have a problem, pet."

She raised her eyebrows, urged him to continue with her hands.

He chewed on his lips for a moment. "Broyle - our 'visitor' - said - after some encouragement - " He grinned toothily. "That they had been sent to kill Davis and, hopefully, me. So it seems that my announcement has piqued some aggressive interest from someone unknown." He took a drink, laid the glass back on the counter. "Me, I can understand. But Davis? It seems that they may be targeting my...associates."

He waited a beat. Dani just shrugged, confused. He closed his eyes in irritation, sighed dramatically, then reopened them and pointed at her.

"You, darling, are one of my 'associates'. You, therefore, are a target. So." He he lifted the glass, took a sniff, then had another drink. Abruptly, he said, "You've been practicing, right?"

 _~~you're a target...? i don't like the sound of that.~~_

She frowned again. "Well, yes. I can flit up to five hundred miles now!" she boasted. He impatiently waved that aside.

"Useful for an escape. Not useful otherwise. That's defense. We need offense, offense, offense!" he chanted lightly, and arched his eyebrows at her.

"What? You want me to, what, be some kind of warrior demon? Dammit, Jim, I'm a researcher, not a fighter!" she added, amused.

He rolled his eyes at the saying, and shook his finger at her. "You. Are not. Taking this. Seriously." he bit out, glaring and folding his arms. "Let's say, for the sake of argument, that three demon goons under a geas break in here. Three could hold you down, use their power to keep you from flitting. Now what do you do?"

She gaped at him, realizing he was serious.

"Um..."

 _~~i hate to say it, but pb has a point. you haven't got a clue what to do in that situation, do you?~~_

 _But - really! Why would someone attack me?_

 _~~oy. girl. they get you, they rattle him, maybe even hurt him. he may be a pig bastard with control issues, but he...um...cares about you.~~_

 _..._

He flicked up a sardonic eyebrow. "I'm hoping that Danielle is trying to talk some sense into you, pet."

She looked at him, stunned, and opened her mouth to say something, realized she didn't have anything to say, and closed it again. He nodded with narrowed eyes.

"I see. So. Time to start some training and practice in other directions."

"But - "

 _But I don't_ _ **want**_ _to fight_! she wailed inwardly.

 _~~tough shit. get to work.~~_

"Now. Block me." He raised a hand and slapped her with power. She fell back against the island, wide eyed. He frowned.

"I don't know what to _do_!"

"Block me, dammit! Imagine a wall, imagine punching me, ANYTHING!" he ended with an angry roar, and raised his hand again.

 _~~focus. you can do this.~~_

He flung his power at her again, and this time, she focused her own power on the image of a brick wall. The blast still hit her, staggered her, because she had responded slowly. But the impact was lessened.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "Better. Again!" He aimed another bolt, and this time, her imaginary brick wall whipped into place more quickly.

Crowley chewed his lips, looking at her. "You do realize, pet, that I'm being gentle, eh? Now, if I were coming at you with intent to harm, how would you fight back, rather than merely defend?"

"Um...punch? Kick?" As he frowned, she quickly added, "Using my power!"

He made a gesture of invitation. "Do it."

 _~~yah. do it. make pb your punching bag!~~_

 _You sound a bit too gleeful there, Innie-Me._

 _~~smarmy sonovabitch needs to get slapped around a bit.~~_

"But - !"

"What do I have to do to make you realize this ISN'T A GAME, you stupid little baby demon?!" he snarled. She folded her lips at him, beginning to get angry. He raised his hand again, gave a mild wave, and her body went tumbling into the living room. She regained her feet and pushed back. Nothing happened; he just stalked into the living room after her, eyes flaring crossroads demon red, and waved his hand another time. She went flying back and hit the wall, hard.

She was suddenly _very_ angry. But, also...

 _He is pushing her back using his greater height and weight. She slams into the edge of her white board, sending a flare of pain across her back. The white board crashes into the ground..._

She flung an unfocused ball of energy at him. He waved it away nonchalantly, still moving forward, then slammed her into the wall. "Fight, dammit!"

 _He slams her against the wall, and she realizes that Davis's warning was serious, that his reaction to being controlled by Lucifer is dangerous. She begins to fight back, desperately, kicking, scratching, trying to get away, fearful of the pulses of uncontrolled power thrumming in the air..._

 _~~oh, shit. dani - ! oh, shit, i knew this was going to happen sometime. dani! snap out of it!~~_

She shivered, eyes wide, and suddenly began throwing wild bolts of energy towards him. But they were unfocused, aimless, and did nothing - he didn't even have to bat them away. His eyebrows twitched into a frown. "Focus! Control! Aim at _me,_ you idiot, not at the vase of flowers!"

She didn't really hear him.

 _He has her pinned to the wall. He's stolen her voice. He's frighteningly expressionless. He uses his leg to force hers apart -_

She wailed, a thin, high-pitched wail, closed her eyes, and flitted. Somewhere. Anywhere. Just away. Far away.

When she opened her eyes, she vaguely recognized the woods. Somewhere near the cabin in the Adirondacks, she thought. She dropped to the ground, and curled up in a ball, trying to block out the world.

 _~~dani?~~_

 _~~dani!~~_

The air moved, suddenly displaced, and Crowley was there. He squatted down, touched her shoulder gently.

"Dani...?"

She shivered, and balled up tighter. He abruptly shifted to sit down next to her, ignoring the cold and snow and dead leaves, and pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms about her and rocking her.

"Shhh. Shhhh. Shhhh. Dani-girl. I didn't think. Shhh. I'm sorry, pet. So so sorry."

She was sobbing into his shoulder now, but at that she gave a weak, watery laugh. "I thought the King of Hell didn't apologize."

He sighed, pulled her tighter, leaned his chin on her head, and stared sightlessly across the woods.

"Some things are just...necessary, pet. I hurt you without meaning to, then. And I woke those memories again, and, again, didn't mean to. So. I think I can't be the one to train you in this. But you _need_ to learn to fight, and not by someone who...cares about you."

They sat there for a few minutes, as her sobs gradually quieted.

"Better?" he asked gently.

She nodded soundlessly.

"Can we go back to your place? I am getting cold and damp," he added lightly.

She nodded another time. He tightened his arms and they vanished.


	9. Don't Fear The Reaper (Blue Oyster Cult)

Charlie paced back and forth in her motel room, glowering.

"Humph! Can't help me! Won't let Crowley help me! I _know_ it would have worked, H.!" She stopped in front of the table and shook her finger at the Hermione Granger bobble-head perched between her (new!) iPad and Surface. "I could have found a way to get out of the demon deal, I just know it! Bah." She pulled out the chair in front of her tablets and scowled darkly at the bobble-head.

It wasn't the original - that was long gone, from back when the Leviathans realized she was helping Sam and Dean and chased her from her old apartment. But she had replaced it, and made sure, now, to always check for it when she was packing to move to another motel or hidden cabin. It just made her feel better. She also had Princess Leia, and a Baymax. But Herione was her spirit bobble-head, the one she really wanted.

She grinned. "So now I ask myself, 'What would Hermione do?', and the answer _is_..." She bopped the bobble-head with a pencil, and the head nodded at her as she nodded at it. "She would just go ahead and figure out another plan. So, H., we're gonna look for that Book of the Saved. Dani said there was some mysterious 'ask the Reaper' comment in a couple of places. So. Let's figure out how to do that!"

She flipped on the iPad, called up the occult database that Dani had given her at the Thanksgiving feast, and started searching.

A few hours later, she sighed and leaned back, pushing her short, dark-red curls back behind her ears. "Well. H., we have the question of which spell works. Two of them, very different. Hunh. I guess we just try both, don't you think? If the easier one doesn't work, we'll try the other." She peered at the bobble-head, and nodded firmly. "Yup. That's what we'll do."

She printed out the list of ingredients for the summoning spell, placed her earphones in, selected some upbeat music, and exited the motel room dancing to the music.

* * *

Crowley fed her chicken soup. With crackers. He made her snuggle up on the sofa with one of her fluffy blankets while he made it. And he did it himself, not calling Davis in to do it.

Dani was amused, but had to admit it helped her re-center herself and calm down. He kept darting worried, frowning looks at her when he thought she wasn't looking, which was amazingly sweet. And unsettling.

 _~~don't knock it. you got a real, live "i'm sorry" from him, which is a first!~~_

 _Yes, but..._

 _~~but what?~~_

 _It's not like him at all_ , she fretted.

 _~~he's worried. just think what would happen if these mysterious 'visitors' hurt you.~~_

She tried, but her mind boggled.

He had taken the dirty dishes into the kitchen, and now returned to sit on the sofa with her. He slid his arms around her, pulled her close, and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. She pulled back and glared at him.

"Look. I'm not some precious, fragile, wilting flower. You don't have to walk on tiptoe around me."

"Mmm hmmm," he murmured, tilting up an eyebrow. "Funny. I seem to recall you falling to pieces when I attacked," he said acidly, tilting his head back and regarding her from under drooping eyelids.

Dani heaved a tiny sigh and relaxed. _That_ was more like him. "I'll get over it," she reassured him.

"Really?" he drawled. "Not in time. You need the training _now._ " He sat up briskly. "So. Since _I_ can't do the training, Dani-girl, we need someone else. I think Jemma will do nicely," he added.

"What?! Jemma?! I don't - " She stopped.

 _I don't_ _ **want**_ _her training me._

 _~~hunh. at least you'll want to smash her with your power, eh?~~_

 _Oh, shut up!_

He eyed her narrowly, then nodded. "No time like the present, eh, pet?" he smirked. He called out loudly, "Jemma! Jemma, darling, I have something for you to do."

There was a small "poof" of air rushing outward as Jemma appeared.

Secretly, Dani had hoped she had inflated her impression of just how striking Jemma was, but, alas, she was still gorgeous. And sultry. Like a walking sex bomb. Dani gritted her teeth, but smiled politely.

Jemma tossed her cascade of raven curls, a slow smile curved her lips, and she purred, "Crowley! Darling! A job? I'd love to help!" She slid down gracefully on the sofa next to him, crossing her long legs and leaning slightly toward him. Dani could smell her scent from his other side, something that was a mix of sulfur and the latest, most sensual perfume from Chanel.

"And little Dani! Hello, sweet thing!" She peered around Crowley and smiled - a tolerant, "grown-up chatting with the adolescents" smile. Dani gritted her teeth again.

Crowley leaned in and whispered in her ear, very softly, "Now, now, pet. You don't have to like her, but _do_ be polite..." He sat back, a wicked glint of amusement in his eyes. Dani silently vowed to find a way to get back at him.

"Jemma. Dani here needs some...er...battle training, as it were."

A slight frown flitted across Jemma's face, then was replaced by a wide smile. "But of course! But why can't _you_ do it, darling man? You _are_ stronger than me." The look she gave him was teasing and admiring.

Dani wondered if she'd need to take Innie-Me's body in to the dentist, she was grinding her teeth so much.

 _~~mmrrrow! keep the claws in, dani!~~_

 _She just...just...oooh! She makes me feel like a bloody schoolgirl, dammit!_

Crowley waved a dismissive hand. "No time, pet. She needs solid training, and needs it _now_. Perhaps...oh, a couple of hours a day?" he suggested, tilting his head inquiringly.

"Of course, sire," Jemma murmured. "It'll be my pleasure." She smiled at him again, one hand gently resting on his knee.

 _I'll bet._

"Starting now, darling," he drawled. Jemma blinked.

"Well! Okay, then. Ready to start work, little Dani?" The smile she turned on Dani was less brilliant.

"Of course," she responded stiffly.

"Well, then! Crowley, my very dearest dear, I take it you're going to watch this session, hmm? Then you should be clear of us," Jemma said, suddenly brisk, rubbing her hands together. He flicked his eyebrows up, but stood up and moved obediently to sit by the dining table.

"So, what can you do already?" she asked.

Dani blushed. "I can flit a few hundred miles. I can transport things a short distance. I can smash vases that I'm not aiming at," she added with a small snort of laughter. Jemma lifted an eyebrow. "And..." She thought back to her first morning with Crowley; a lifetime ago, it seemed. "I can cast a confining spell if I'm angry," she said slowly.

Jemma narrowed her eyes. She was being all business, it seemed to Dani, which made her feel more at ease. "Hmmm. Flitting for escape. Transporting objects - can you do it hard, with force? We might be able to adapt that so you can throw, say, knives, bullets. The confining spell...we'll work later on doing it when you're not angry. But first things first - the basics: hitting and blocking hits." Crowley, watching intently, nodded agreement. He stretched out his legs and leaned back in the dining chair, hands clasped over his stomach, eyes intent on them.

"Now." Jemma invited her with a gesture. "Hit me with your best shot, child."

Dani blinked, then centered and _pushed_ at Jemma with her power.

Jemma barely moved her hand deflecting it. She sighed. "Well. I see we have work to do. Again, harder," she directed.

Two hours later, Dani was sweating and had a good power hangover developing. She had, however, begun to make at least a slight bit of headway; her pushes were somehow tighter, more focused, and she had actually made Jemma do more than flap a lazy hand to block the hits a few times towards the end. Crowley, after the first few minutes, had made the latest historic romance he was reading appear, and slouched down in the chair absorbed in it, only occasionally glancing up to see how they were doing. He had set a timer on his phone, though, and when it beeped he sat up.

"Enough. Every day, from now on, until you're sure she can defend herself," he said to Jemma. He looked at Dani, frowned, and snapped his fingers, conjuring up a thermos of the magic sludgy remedy for power hangovers. He strode over to Dani and thrust it at her. She grabbed it gratefully and slugged the nasty stuff down; she knew from experience how quickly it helped.

He pulled her close, molding her body against his. She felt her pulse quicken. "Very good, pet," he murmured. "I'll be sure to have Davis bring you a thermos every day." She nodded, leaning her head against him, breathing in his intoxicating scent of scotch, musk, and some man's perfume, with a hint of sulfur behind it all. He nibbled her ear, then said softly, "I have business to attend to, alas." She nodded again, and took a reluctant step back.

"Same time and place tomorrow?" Jemma asked lightly. Her eyes had been watching their interplay sharply. Dani nodded, blinking off the remainder of the flayed-skin, shatteringly-painful-light feeling the hangover gave her. "Then I'm off! Bye, darlings!" With that, she vanished.

"Hmmm. I was intending to leave first, but now..." He looked down at her with drooping eyelids. She knew that look, and her body responded with fire singing down her skin where his hands rested lightly, and her breath caught. He pulled her back into his arms, leaned his head down to kiss her, his lips hard and demanding. She tasted the scotch, him, and she made a soft sound between a sigh and a moan. His hands slid down her back to rest on her hips and pulled her pelvis closer, so she could feel his penis hard against her groin. She ground herself against him in return.

His hands slid back up, sliding her t-shirt, still damp from the sweat of her exertion with power, up her body and then over her willing arms and head. He buried his face in her neck and said drowsily, "I could get drunk off your scent, your taste..." He slid his tongue around the base of her neck while his hands cupped her breasts, fingers toying with the nipples until they were aching and hard. She arched her back towards him.

"You don't want, say, Jemma here instead?" she asked softly, hating herself for needing the answer.

He jerked his head back, peered down at her, startled. " _What_?!"

She ducked her head away, flushing. He held her chin with his fingers, turning it back. He had an amused smile. "Gods, no. Perish the thought. Remember when I told you about courtiers trying to use sex to become the power behind the throne?" She nodded, keeping her eyes down. "She's one of them. Ugh. No." He paused, then added, "Now, that doesn't mean I don't have fun with others, you know that..." He tilted up a sardonic eyebrow. She bit her lip, but nodded again. He leaned forward again, whispering in her ear, "I do enjoy my boys and girls from Dion's...and hope that you'll join us..."

She stared at his chest. "Um. No." After a beat, she added a polite, "Thanks!" He puffed a small snort of amusement, and his breath and beard tickled her ear, made her shiver with delight. "Someday. Someday, I'll get you to say yes. And you'll have the time of your life, little baby demon girl." He pulled her close, then tangled his fingers in her short hair, dragged her head back. "In the meantime..." He tilted his own head up with a haughty expression, looked down at her with glittering eyes, and said with a hard voice, "Just who do you belong to, Dani-girl?" He shook her head gently back and forth.

"To my king," she murmured without hesitation, reaching up to trace the outline of his beard.

 _~~oh, puh-leeze. gag me. jeez, i remember a conversation where you laughed yourself silly at the thought of calling him that...before he managed to totally hypnotize you...~~_

 _Oh. Em. Gee. Innie-Me, would you please just keep your commentary to yourself, dammit!_

There were times when having a mental hitchhiker was mighty inconvenient.

"See that you keep that in mind, baby demon girl. You belong to _me_ ," he hissed into her ear, and then crushed her to his body and kissed her brutally hard yet again. The rest of the world had faded away for her as she focused totally on him.

 _~~oh, well. even if he's a control freak with outdated double standards, he does do the sexy fun times damn well. mighty damn well.~~_

Dani pushed her down. Hard.

* * *

Charlie chewed on her lips, looking at the pile of ingredients. She checked the list again, making sure she had everything: crucifix, gold ore, hemlock, mace, an assortment of the normal herbs for spells. The blood could come from her palm; as usual, none of the spell write-ups bothered to mention just how much blood was needed. Someday, she was going to run a series of experiments to determine the _smallest_ amount of blood needed for each spell.

"Right. Well. Here goes, H.!" She crouched down, started chalking lines on the floor, referring to a printout of the easier Reaper summoning and trap. It was a dual-purpose spell, doing both at once.

One large circle, one gigantic Enochian sigil inscribed inside. She knelt down, pulled the silver bowl forward, mixed the ingredients. Then, gritting her teeth and looking away, she slashed her palm.

" _Ouch_!" She leaned forward, muttering under her breath, and let the blood drip over the ingredients. She then lit a kitchen match and dropped it in, reciting, " _O theris tes, caleo se cai deo._ ". Then she hurriedly added a rough Latin translation of "I seek the one who knows the Book of the Saved." The bowl flared with vivid blue-white light.

She sucked her palm, rocking with the sting of the cut, and hoped to bloody hell that only one Reaper knew about the Book of the Saved; her translation was bad enough that it was kind of vague, and she had a momentary dreadful vision of hundreds of Reapers, piled one atop the other, crowding the Reaper trap. She laughed a bit hysterically at the image, then jumped when a lone figure appeared within the circle. She scrambled to her feet, tucked her hair behind her ears, then drew a breath.

"Uh. Hi!" she said awkwardly. "Um. I sure do _hope_ you're the one I'm looking for, the one who knows about the book - uh, the Book, that is, the Book of the Saved! Y'know, I'm wicked good with computers and technology, an utter genius, but this spellwork stuff is all new to me, and oh em gee, the Latin is excruciating!" She paused. The tall form in the middle of the circle merely stood there, looking at her with deep, dark brown eyes, and clasping its hands calmly in front of itself. The face was long and cadaverous and wrinkled. Before she could stop herself, Charlie went on, "My gosh, you are just tall! And you look like a wrinkled prune on a stick!" Then she clapped her hands over her mouth and groaned in horror. "Oh, darn it! That was rude, oh so rude, and I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything like that, and - " She stopped again, whirled around, and grabbed her hair in frustration. "Charlie!" she hissed to herself. "Pull yourself together! Remember: what would Hermione do?"

There was a creaking noise behind her. She whirled back. The Reaper - it had to be a Reaper, right? - was twitching its mouth slightly. She stared in horrified fascination until it dawned on her that it was...

...laughing.

"Your Latin is terrible," the Reaper said. Its voice was hollow and echo-ey. "As for looking like a...'prune on a stick', was it?...if you wish, I can take a more familiar form."

Her eyes widened, and she grinned. "You can do that? Cool!" The Reaper nodded gravely. She thought, and her eyes lit up with mischief. "How about - can you make yourself look like ScarJo? That would be _very_ relaxing!"

"ScarJo?" The Reaper sounded puzzled. Charlie's shoulders slumped.

"Oh, well. How about like a woman, just a bit older than me, with, oh, black hair and blue eyes, and a bit taller than me, but not too much - "

She held up a hand to stem Charlie's flow of words. "Will this do?" She was...pleasant looking. Average height, average weight. Kind of outdoorsy. Blue jeans and a T-shirt. Long black hair in a braid. Wide cheekbones, dusky skin, and brown eyes instead of blue. The brown eyes stared at her curiously.

"Uh. Yeah. That's great," Charlie said faintly. "You look...kinda Native American."

"That would be because I recently guided a Navajo girl to her final destination. I borrowed her likeness. Her eyes were not blue, though. I hope it doesn't trouble you."

"Oh! No, no, no! It's just fine! Really! Um." She stopped again. "So. Uh. What do I call you? "Reaper" is pretty distant, y'know."

She smiled slightly. "Call me Doli. It means 'bluebird'."

Charlie blinked at her and abruptly sat down, cross-legged, on the floor. "I didn't think it would really work - I thought I'd have to try the tougher spell, and it was a real bitch, lots of Enochian sigils, and more ingredients to burn, some of which were darned hard to get hold of - and I really am a wizard with computers, but real life wizardry just makes me nervous as hell - " She stopped and drew in another deep breath. "Sorry. I chatter, sometimes."

Doli slid down to the floor to echo her cross-legged position. "You called me. You were successful. I came. What do you want to know?"

Charlie squinted at her suspiciously. "That's it? Just like that?"

"You _do_ have me in a Reaper trap," she pointed out with quiet amusement.

"Um. Yeah. I just thought I'd have to - oh, do _more_."

Doli spread her hands. "No. You called for the Reaper who knows about the Book of the Saved. I am here. What do you want to know?" she repeated.

Charlie stared at her, open-mouthed, for a few moments.

"So where is it? The book, that is?" she finally blurted out.

Doli looked at her calmly. "It is in Purgatory."

Charlie just looked at her, then put her head in her hands and groaned again. "Okay. Yeah. Right. Why not? Purgatory. Hell!"

Doli looked puzzled again. "No, not Hell. Purgatory. I just said that."

They stared at each other for a long time, silent.


	10. Can't Stop Me Now (Ted Nugent)

The cold December wind blew across the Indiana farmlands, swirling the light snow cover on the fields into tiny snow funnels in the air, leaving ripples wherever there was a tussock or small clump of long-dead crops that had been skipped over by the harvesters. When it reached one particular property, though, it was not snow that whirled upward, but ashes. The ashes skittered across the frozen ground and sifted through the cracks in the twisted black hulk by the roadside that had once been a large truck.

A bitter smell came with the ashes, of burned dead foliage and soil charred by lightning.

A short, sturdy man dressed in a long black overcoat stood by the wreckage, hands in his pockets. His head was tilted slightly back as he looked out over the burned field, and he rocked thoughtfully back and forth on his feet as his gaze wandered from one end of the field to the other. The wind ruffled his black hair and beard, and tried to snake its way under his coat. Finally, a wide, satisfied smile crossed his face, he nodded to himself once, and then he vanished.

The wind kept blowing.

* * *

Boots on the ground.

It was such a simple saying, but what it really meant was hours of driving, stopping at every little collection of buildings that harbored a gas station or store, dashing quickly in with heads tucked down to avoid the knifing wind, chatting up bored cashiers, showing Sam's picture. Over and over again.

And nothing.

They had headed slowly south from Groves's charred field, starting their questioning shortly afterward at the first store they encountered.

Nothing.

Goshen had been big enough that they spent a day there, canvassing every convenience store. New Paris, on the other hand, had hardly been a bump in the road. The next day, they had branched west to Nappanee, and then doubled back east to check Syracuse, driving on a road magnificently named "Grand Army of the Republic Highway".

Nothing.

They had mostly stayed silent. Dean was busy alternating between feeling guilty about his fight with Sam and being terrified that the small disaster at that farmer's land was just a hint of Sam swaying toward darkness. He knew it was irrational. Psychic powers, by themselves, didn't mean diddly-squat, he told himself again and again. Missouri was a psychic. Pamela had been a psychic. Andy had been a psychic. They were good people. But then he would find himself following that thought with the memory of Azazel's yellow eyes glittering with triumph when he turned away from his kiss sealing his demon deal with their mother, and the knowledge that Sam's powers were born from demon blood.

Sam having spent the past six months being a muppet for Lucifer was just icing on the cake. He _knew_ that Lucifer had been screwing with Sam's head all that time.

All in all, he was being a pretty lousy traveling companion.

So when his phone rang, and the ID showed as Charlie, he answered it immediately, punching the speaker button so Cas could join in.

"Hey, bitches, how's it hanging?"

He smiled involuntarily. Charlie's cheerful voice was refreshing to hear.

"Hey, there, kiddo!"

"Charlie. It's good to hear your voice," Cas chimed in, smiling widely.

"So where are you guys?"

"Indiana. God's most boring place in the wintertime," Dean groused.

"Dean is exaggerating. There are numerous birds of prey patrolling the countryside, very handsome ones, and I have seen foxes, skunks, raccoons, and many squirrels and ground squirrels, even with the cold."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Y'know I can't see those things. I'm driving. I have to keep my eyes on the road. You, on the other hand, get to admire the fucking scenery. What little of it there is."

"Syracuse had a lake. There were ducks. And some geese that haven't migrated yet."

Dean shuddered, remembering an encounter with geese he and Sam had had once. "Geese are evil, Cas. It's not a selling point for me."

Charlie laughed, a rippling sound that warmed Dean's heart. "You two sound like an old married couple, bickering like that!"

Dean clenched his teeth, staring at the highway in front of him, ignoring the way his heart leapt into his throat at the innocent comment. She had no way of knowing - he quashed the thought, and moved to change the subject.

"So what's up with you? How's New York? Your search for that damned book?"

"Oh! Well! You know. Leads and clues and stuff. Dani gave me an idea, and stomped really hard on a different one." He could tell the stomping still made her huffy, and he chuckled.

"Well, Charlie, if a _demon_ thinks it's a bad idea..."

"You just don't understand, Dean," she said darkly. He could see her in his mind's eye, face frowning and eyes glowering, and he had to chuckle again.

"Anyway!" She went back to her normal cheeriness. "So! I'm wondering if you know where my katana is? I think it got left behind when Lucy's gang kidnapped me - did you guys happen to grab it before haring off to rescue me?"

Dean slid a questioning glance at Cas. Cas looked back and shrugged helplessly.

"Um. I honestly don't remember. I know it was there - it was stuck under the sofa - "

"I believe we left it behind, Charlie," Cas added. "We were very concerned about you, and we left the cabin very abruptly once Dani passed on the information that it was Lucifer's henchmen who had taken you."

She was quiet for a moment or two, then said brightly, "No matter, guys! I'll just have to find one here, which won't be hard since it's New York City and huge and there are shops everywhere - maybe Dani can help, if she's not too busy with Crowley's stuff - did you know he's decided to go back to being King of Hell again - ?" Cas's eyebrows rose in surprise.

Dean interrupted. "You make it sound like he's just moving into a new apartment..."

"Well, I know it takes a bit more than just deciding, that's why he's got Dani busy working on researching spells for him, but - " She stopped. He waited for her to continue, but she seemed to have been struck by a thought. Just as he was about to say something, she asked, "Any leads on Sam?"

"Nope. We had one, but so far it seems to have fizzled out."

She sighed. "Well, I'll keep on working on my end...say, Dean, just what _was_ Purgatory like?"

He gaped at the abrupt change of subject, darting a quick look at Cas again. He seemed just as puzzled; his eyebrows had twitched into a small frown.

"Uh. Purgatory?"

Cas reached out a hand, laid on his wrist. His frown had gotten bigger. "Pull over." He nodded to the side of the road. Dean peered that way, trying to see whatever it was that had troubled Cas so much, but there was nothing he could see, just more snow-covered farmland. But, since Cas was rarely so commanding these days, he shrugged and pulled over.

"Wanna tell me what - "

"Charlie. You were asking earlier about your katana. Now you are asking what Purgatory was like." Put like that...Dean stiffened, eyes widening. His eyes locked with Cas's, and a flood of harsh memories swept over him. Cas nodded at him grimly. "Please tell me my suspicion is incorrect."

There was no answer. Dean frowned, clenching his hands on the steering wheel and a muscle jumping in his jaw.

"Charlie...?" he prompted her, his voice hard.

"Oh, it's nothing, I was just curious, that's all. Something a friend said..." She sounded nonchalant, but there was something there...

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You're lying. What are you lying about, kiddo?"

"Nothing!" she said indignantly.

"Katana, Purgatory...put them together and you have one damned bad idea." He was suddenly both afraid and furious. "Dammit! Charlie! Think back to your worst times in Oz. Then make that every damned day. Then multiply it by ten, a hundred. What the _hell_ is wrong with you?! What could possibly make you want to - " He stopped, closed his eyes, and leaned his head on the steering wheel. "Son of a bitch!" he muttered darkly. "Where are you? Right now?"

"New York City," she muttered. Dean quickly muted the phone and glared at Cas.

"Is that specific enough for you to find her?"

Cas shook his head, and Dean unmuted the phone.

"Charlie." He drew in a deep breath. "Where, exactly, are you?"

She was stubbornly silent.

"You stay right where you are!" Dean snapped, and ended the call.

Cas rubbed his chin, eyes distant. "How are we going to find her, stop her?"

Dean already was scrolling through his contacts. He located the one he was looking for, dialed, and tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. "C'mon, c'mon, pick up - "

"Hello? Dean?" The voice at the other end was drowsy, and he flicked up an intrigued eyebrow - it was just barely afternoon in the city.

"Dani. This is urgent: do you have any idea just where Charlie is?"

"What? Charlie? She's here in the city - " Dani sounded puzzled and a bit more alert.

"Yes, yes, I know; we need to know where in the city she is. _Now_." He was feeling the need to move more and more urgently. If Charlie was doing what he and Cas thought, and since she knew what they suspected, he was sure she was about to abandon her current location.

"Hmm. The last I knew, she had a room at the Shorebird Motel, it's at, um, hold on a second - " He could hear papers rustling. He could also hear a man muttering. She covered the phone, said something in reply, then uncovered the phone again. "It's at Shore Parkway near Bedford Avenue in Brooklyn. Does that help?"

Cas was already gone.

* * *

"Oh, _damn_ it!"

Charlie stared at her phone in dismay, then abruptly stood up and started dashing through the room, collecting her tablets and Hermione, grabbing clothes and toothbrush and toothpaste, and stuffing them in her duffle bag.

Doli watched with mild interest. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, damn it, damn it, _damn_ it!" Charlie chanted. She peered up at Doli from her position by the duffle, her red curls falling across her face. "That was stupid. I needed the information, but I should _know_ better than to try to bluff with Dean - I'm a lousy liar and he knows me too well - " She bit her lip, and returned to stuffing things into the duffle. She checked one more time to be sure she had everything, zipped the duffle shut, and stood back up, slinging her jacket on and heaving the bag up with her. "C'mon. Let's go, before they get here."

Doli stood up slowly, puzzled. "Go. Go where? Before who gets here?"

Charlie frowned at her and snapped, "I don't know. Anywhere! Just have to move, _now_! C'mon!" She grabbed Doli's wrist and pulled her to the door, cautiously peeking out before opening it wide and running down the cement arcade, plunging down the stairs, and darting to the corner of the building. She craned her neck around the corner, looking back and forth. Doli looked over her shoulder.

"What are we looking for?"

The motel faced the Belt Parkway, which was crowded with cars, taxis, buses, moving swiftly as it was early afternoon, before the rush. Across Shore, between Shore and the Belt, was a strip of park filled with tall, naked trees, dead lawn, snow-dusted shrubbery. She scanned back and forth, then stopped: a tall, black-haired man in a tan trench coat was standing beneath one of the trees, looking at the motel.

She slumped back against the wall. "Cas. He's here already."

Doli stood placidly beside her. "You do not want to be found?"

"No! I need to get that book, and they're going to stop me! Purgatory can't be all _that_ bad, darn it!" Charlie darted a look around the parking lot, searching for a path away that wasn't out in the open.

Doli blinked. "Purgatory is, indeed, 'that bad'," she said mildly. She touched Charlie's shoulder with a gentle hand. "Do you want to leave? Without being seen?"

Charlie jerked her head back around, looked at Doli closely. "Um...yeah...?"

"Then we go." Doli's hand settled more firmly on her shoulder, and, without warning, they were no longer huddled against the wall of the Shorebird Motel, but standing beside a large graffiti-covered granite boulder in a park. A paved pathway wound away through the snow-covered grass beside them, and the chill breeze swirled dead leaves and snow along it. Charlie's mouth dropped open, and she turned to take in their new surroundings, shivering and hunching down in her jacket.

"Where - "

"This is my entrance to Purgatory." Doli nodded at the boulder. "We are in Central Park."

" _Your_ entrance - "

Doli looked at the boulder with a small smile. "There are many entrances. Monsters have souls, too; they need to be guided to their destination, just as human souls do." She glanced back at Charlie. "We cannot go like this. You will need a weapon, or weapons. And the bag will slow us down."

"'We' - ?!" Charlie realized that she was gaping, and that her series of questions was making her sound like an idiot. She dropped the duffle, and shook a finger at the Reaper. "Why are you helping me like this?"

In answer, Doli silently held out her wrist. She shook it so that a flat silvery bracelet, with bright fluorescent pink fingernail polish tracing the Reaper's trap sigil, danced on her arm. Charlie looked at it, bit her lip, and looked back into Doli's eyes.

"Oh." She had just wanted her to be more comfortable, not stuck in the summoning trap. And she had been so interested! It had been fun to quiz Doli on what being a Reaper was like, how hard she had to work, did she get time off, the kinds of people she had guided, did she _like_ doing it. So she had improvised the bracelet, based loosely on the inscribed iron cuffs that had hung from the walls of the dungeon in the bunker.

And now, here they were, and it seemed that Doli was still trapped, and that meant she _had_ to do what Charlie wanted.

It made Charlie very uncomfortable.

"Well. Look," she said briskly. "Let me get that thing off you, you can get back to work, and I'll just summon you again when I've got everything ready, and you can lead me to the book, when we're back I'll release you again, and everything will be - " She bit her lips again. "Darn it! I just - just forgot about that thing! I'm sorry!"

Doli gave her a slow smile. "There is no need to apologize. Your plan would work, but wastes time. If you open the trap now, I will still stay, and help you."

"But _why_?!" It was totally incomprehensible.

Doli looked out across the white and brown and gray park landscape, and answered slowly. "I have been...guarding...the book for centuries. Others have tried to force me to take them to it." She glanced back. "I found ways to stop them. But none of them have been...interested in me, as an individual. No-one has ever asked me the questions you have. Ever since I was bound to the book, I have been simply a means to an end." She fell silent, watching the leaves dance along the ground. Then she added, "And there are forces afoot. Lucifer is free from the Cage, and is now seeking another vessel. Perhaps...perhaps I just want to help."

Charlie leaned back against the boulder, crossed her arms, and smiled widely. "Well! Okay, then! We'll just get me some weapons, some other supplies, and then we'll go! But, since I don't want you to feel forced - " She leaned down, rummaged in her duffle, emerged with a bottle of nail polish remover and a ragged T-shirt. "Let's just erase that darned sigil."

* * *

Sam opened the door for her and Rowena swept in, eyes swiftly taking in the empty, dusty expanse, the angel and demon warding sigils on the walls and windows. She took a small sniff, and grimaced at the musty smell. She stopped and whirled on Sam.

"Ach, Samuel. Always with you boys, it's the old abandoned warehouses and tacky, smelly motel rooms. Would it be too much trouble to find a _pleasant_ environment for us to practice in?!" Her accent slightly rolled the r's.

"It's cheap," Sam replied shortly, folding his lips. "It's big. You wanted big, I wanted cheap. Here it is." He waved a sarcastically welcoming hand. She didn't move, frowning. He took her by the elbow and pushed her further into the room, aiming her toward the dilapidated table he had rescued from beside a dumpster in a nearby alley.

She stopped by the table, looked down her fine nose at the surface, then dragged a fingertip across it, peered at the result. "And dirty!" She pursed disapproving lips. "You could at least have _cleaned_ , giant!"

He pulled out one of the chairs, sat down, leaned back, stretched his long legs and gave her a sardonic smile. "I'll bring some Windex by next time. I know it's not one of the 5-star hotel rooms you're used to stealing, but it'll serve our purpose."

She didn't answer, but stood by the other chair, waiting. She folded her arms and began to tap her foot. He didn't move, and finally she snapped, "Manners!"

He drew a long, annoyed breath, rolled his eyes, then slowly unfolded from his chair, strolled over, and pulled the other one out for her. She glanced suspiciously at the seat before deigning to sit. He returned to his chair. She started to plant her elbows on the table, paused, gave it a disgusted look, and shuddered delicately. Instead, she leaned forward to tap one of her long fingernails on the top.

"We'll be needin' some supplies, mind you. Vervain, hemlock, heart's ease...tch, I will pull together a list. And a silver bowl. Candles. Paint or suchlike to draw sigils."

He frowned. "I haven't needed anything before - the power just...works." He tapped the side of his forehead.

Rowena snorted, tossing her long red curls. "And what, pray tell, was the result?" She arched her perfectly penciled eyebrows at him. "I seem to recall a certain large lad sayin' his problem was lack of control? We will be workin' on that, Samuel, and to provide you with a - a - power fence, let's call it - I will be needin' to use some of those items. But..." She leaned back in her chair, waved a nonchalant hand in the air. "If you're lookin' to tell me how to conduct _my_ business..." She smiled smugly. "Well, then, it seems that maybe we have no business together after all, and I can leave this dirty cave behind that much sooner."

A muscle jumped in his jaw, but he bit back his automatic angry reply. She was right, after all. He had come to her, asking for training. And her explanation made a certain amount of sense. He finally nodded shortly.

She smiled widely at him. "Good! And, of course, we'll be needin'...oh...say, four bottles of scotch."

He threw her a confused look.

"Tch. Samuel. You say that your problems with the control happen when you are drunk, yes? So..." She waved one airy hand. "We need you to get drunk."

Of course. Dammit.

He had no idea how his power worked if he was drunk. But perhaps he could sneak the thermos in, distract Rowena somehow, take a swig or two of Crowley's blood with each glass of scotch, maybe that would work...


	11. Black Magic Woman (Santana)

"Hi! I'm here for a katana," Charlie said, slinging her small daypack down on the counter with a wide smile. Doli stood unobtrusively behind and to her side.

The burly man behind the counter glanced at her, smiled slightly, and said, "Just a moment, miss." He slid away sideways along the crowded space behind the counter, returned quickly with three swords and laid them on the counter for her to look over. "Here ya go, three of our best."

Charlie took one quick look and frowned.

Doli moved forward, picked one up, and her eyes widened. She swept it from side to side and it flexed. Like plastic. Which, Charlie thought, was to be expected, because it _was_ plastic. Doli's eyebrows came down in a slight frown. She shook her head, placed it back on the counter, and said quietly, "Oh. This will not do. At all."

Charlie rapped her knuckles on the counter. "Not for costumes. I want a _real_ katana, and I've heard you have them in stock."

The proprietor shrugged. "Sorry, lady. Lemme try again." He wiggled back out, and returned. This time, when he laid the two swords down on the counter, there was a solid clink. Charlie picked one up, slid it out of the wooden sheath, held it to up to the light, and sighed, annoyed. "Really?!" she snapped. "This is cast aluminum, and not that good, at that, you can see burr marks where it was broken out of the mold." She held it over so Doli could see.

"Hmmm. Perhaps you should try another shop? There are other shops, correct?" She took the sword from Charlie and examined it curiously, turning it over and over.

Charlie leaned on her knuckles on the counter, her face jutting forward. Though she was small, she emanated fierce energy. "Dude! If we had been guys coming in here asking for katanas, would you have tried to get away with those pieces of shit? Seriously?!"

The man blushed. "Look, lady, I'm sorry. The only women I get in here usually are girls going off to some sci-fi convention. And these are good imitations, really, great for cosplay - "

"Yeah, yeah, okay, I've done cosplay, it's okay," Charlie muttered darkly. "But it's pretty darned sexist, even if you're going by your own experience! Do you have _real_ ones you can show me? I don't need top-of-the-line or antiques, just something solid, about, oh, yay big?" She held out her arms, indicating a rough length

He squinted at her, thought, and nodded. "Not the five thousand dollar dealios from Japan. Gotcha. Gimme a sec."

He squirmed out a third time. Doli watched him go thoughtfully, put the fake katana back on the counter, and turned back to Charlie. "Will it be this difficult elsewhere? Why would someone think that reproductive organs change what type of sword - "

She was interrupted by his return. This time, the two swords made a solid thunk when he laid them on the counter. Charlie picked one up, pulled it out, and was already nodding before she had it clear of the sheath, just by listening to the sound. She swept it up by her side in salute, then tried a few forms. Finally, biting her lip, she replaced it in the sheath, shaking her head. "Not this one. It just doesn't feel right for me." The man gave her a quick nod and pushed it aside. She reached for the second one.

She got all the way through the forms this time. The proprietor cupped his chin in his hand, watching her moves with a practiced eye. When she stopped, he just flicked up an inquiring eyebrow at her, and she nodded. "Well," he said mildly. "If I'd seen you do the forms first, I wouldn't have wasted your time. Sorry 'bout that."

"Just don't make assumptions like that the next time a woman walks through your doors," Charlie chided him.

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be more careful next time. It was a pleasure watching you this last time." He smiled, a genuine smile, and shook her hand.

Doli looked down at the clasped hands, puzzled.

* * *

"She was already gone."

Dean had heard the soft ruffle of Cas's wings before he spoke, so didn't jump at his sudden appearance.

"That's what I get, having a little 'sister' who's damned smart," he grumped. "Well, we can track her through her phone, I - "

Cas handed him Charlie's cell phone without a word. Dean looked down at it, pursing his lips, then snorted. "Like I said..."

"There was some type of trap, entity trap, laid out on the floor of her hotel room." Cas reached into the glove box, grabbed a pen and some paper and swiftly sketched it out, handed it to him. He squinted down at it, frowning, and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

"I've seen that before. Trying to remember where." He thought some more, rubbed the back of his head as if it might stir up some memory. "Son of a bitch! Can't remember!" He restarted the car, put it into gear, and pulled back out onto the road. "So. We know she's thinking of trying to go to Purgatory. What kinds of...entities...know how to get there?"

Cas sighed. "Eve. Dragons? Me. Crowley. None of which are summoned by this circle. We need a researcher."

Dean snorted again. "Which would normally be Sam. Yay, us. Batting a thousand, here."

"Actually, I was thinking we could contact Dani again," Cas said slowly.

Dean grinned. "Dude. Last time, I think we interrupted her and lover boy...calling her back again so soon might not be...well, appreciated, if you get what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows. Cas just stared at him, uncomprehending. "Or not," Dean added, amused.

"Ah. You are referring to Crowley?" Cas asked.

"Mmmph," Dean agreed. He handed his phone to Cas. "Here. Text it to her, see if she's seen it before. We can wait a bit for her response..."

Cas did so, and they drove on in silence until Dean flipped on the radio, and started singing along to the Scorpions.

* * *

As promised, the next time they met at the warehouse, Sam brought Windex and paper towels. Rowena made him go over the tabletop three times before she agreed that it was clean enough for use. She chalked out a magic circle on the table, with a square inscribed inside, and a six-pointed star inside that, humming. Sam unbagged the supplies, handing bowl, candles, and herbs to her.

She finished with the chalk, regarded her work with a critical eye, and nodded, dusting the chalk off her hands.

"Now, then, Samuel, if you would sit over there..." She waved her hand to a spot well away from the table. He obediently pulled one of the chairs there and sat down, leaning forward to watch her with interest. In the other-sight, her soul glowed a much deeper blue than most humans', a shimmering navy blue that was almost black.

She laid out four candles at the four cardinal points, consulting a compass, leaving them unlit. Then she placed the bowl in the center of the circle, the herbs into the bowl, lit them, and stood by the table facing north, eyes closed, head up, arms outstretched.

"I call upon thee, Uriel, guardian of Earth, pillar of the north." Sam blinked and frowned slightly at the name she called. "I ask thee for solid strength, for an unbending foundation, for the stability underlying this ward. So mote it be. _Fiat lux_!" The candle in the north flared to light.

Sam switched to other-sight. The candle glowed emerald green in that view.

Rowena moved to face eastward, her back to Sam. "I call upon thee, Raphael, guardian of Air, pillar of the east. I ask thee for the breath of life, for the caress of the wind, for the power underlying this ward. So mote it be. _Fiat lux_!" The candle to the east sputtered and lit. In the other-sight, this one was actinic white. The light from the northern candle bent toward it, and the smoke of the two candles seemed to lightly intertwine, mixing with the smoke from the silver bowl. Sam switched to normal sight, and saw only ordinary candles, the white smoke from both drifting lazily directly upward.

Sam coughed gently to capture her attention. She spun around to face him, irritated. "What?"

"So...why are you calling upon the archangels? Aren't they...um...dead?" He was genuinely curious.

She frowned. "Boy. I will explain later, if you please! Interrupting a spell is, at the very least, bad manners, and at the worst can cause it to go awry. You really do not want to be around if that happens. Now, hush!"

She whirled back, long skirt flaring dramatically, and moved to face south.

"I call upon thee, Michael, guardian of Fire, pillar of the south. I ask thee for the fire of the sun, for the heat of life, for the burning strength underlying this ward. So mote it be. _Fiat lux_!" The third candle burst into flame. It shone vermillion red in the other-sight, and red smoke spiraled outward from it, linking up with the white and the green.

Rowena moved a final time, to face west. Sam could see that she was panting slightly now, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. The arms she spread outward again were trembling slightly.

"I call upon thee, Gabriel, guardian of Water, pillar of the west. I ask thee for the water of the world, the liquid that flows through our veins, for the flexibility underlying this ward. So mote it be. _Fiat lux_!" In the other-sight, this candle sizzled sapphire blue when it lit. The smoke from the four candles joined together in a vague web, arching over the table like a dome.

Rowena drew in a deep breath, lowered her arms, seemed to center herself. Then she threw her arms together above her head and called out, "I call upon Earth, Air, Fire, Water: join, thou elements, and guard this place against any power breaking out or breaking in. So mote it be!" She flung her arms outward, and the dome of smoke blasted out from the table, dazzling in colors, and plastered itself against the walls, ceiling, floor. The smoke seemed to writhe for a moment, then settled into a regular latticework of vivid blue in Sam's other-sight. When he looked using normal vision, there was nothing there.

Rowena slumped down. "Whew! Ach, that spell takes it out of me; I haven't used it to ward such a big space in a long, long time. Well, next time it will be easier to do, I am thinking. Practice. I just need some practice." She pulled out the other chair, not bothering to wait for Sam to pull it out, pulled a paper towel off the roll, and daintily dabbed at her forehead.

Sam approached the nearest wall, examining the warding web. He poked at it with a finger; it gave slightly, then became more firm as he pressed, until he couldn't move it any further. He tried to grasp the golden flow of the electric wiring in the wall behind the blue lattice, but couldn't; somehow, the warding made it impossible to reach.

"Hunh," he muttered thoughtfully. He dragged his chair back to the table and sat down.

Rowena frowned fiercely at him. "Samuel. Do not be interrupting my spellwork. Ever. I dinna care if the building is burning down around us! 'Tis dangerous. And stupid. All that power gathered up - if you distract the person holding the power together, under control - it either rebounds on the spellworker, do you see, or smashes outward, uncontrolled." She illustrated by thumping her chest with a fist, then smashing it into the air in front of her.

Sam drew a breath, started to speak. "But - "

She held up a commanding hand. "No. Never. Unless you're thinkin' you can do a better job...?" She arched her eyebrows at him. "Tch. Are you wantin' to learn control or are you wantin' to commit suicide? If it's the latter, my boy, you go right ahead. Somewhere else, not around me."

He glared at her, folding his lips. She glared right back, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms.

"About calling on the archangels...?" he finally asked.

She twitched up an eyebrow. "Tch. I was not calling on them, specifically. Not really. It's more a...metaphor, do you see." She waved her hands, trying to explain. "The four points are guarded by _something_. Whether it's archangels or not, I do not know. But the spell works, that I do know. And..." She looked at him significantly. "So do you. I saw you pokin' at the wall over there. When you look..." She nibbled at her lip. "Using your power...what do you see?"

He, too, leaned back, stretching out his legs. His forehead wrinkled in thought, and he stared at the blue lattice lacing the wall across from him. "In the other-sight..." he began slowly, "Normally, what I see is...energy. Like...there." He pointed at the electric wiring winding along the base of the wall, and traced it with his finger. "There's a thin flow of yellow light. It's the electric wiring. If I want..." He drew a deep breath, looked back at her. "I can take the electric flow, pull at it, make it into shapes."

Her eyes widened, her eyebrows flew up again, then she nodded.

He went on. "Your...warding?" He tilted an inquiring look at her, and she nodded again. "Your warding shows up like a sparkling blue lattice. On the walls. The floor." He tilted his head back, looked up at the ceiling above. "The ceiling."

"Ahhhh. Go on, do," she said, eyes sharp with interest.

"When I...touch it...it gives way a bit, then hardens so I can't push it any further. And I can't reach the electric wiring behind it."

She hissed out a long breath. "Soooo...now that, my boy, is very interestin'. I can't see that. I simply...sense that it is there. Seems that we have different ways of experiencing the power."

His eyebrows twitched together. "Does that mean you won't be able to teach me to control it?"

She laughed. "Psshhhh. Power is power, giant. We may see it, feel it, differently, but underneath 'tis the same thing. And, ahhh, what a glorious feeling it is, curlin' around in your blood, making your skin tingle, like you could do anything!" She sighed and smiled dreamily. He nodded slowly, intrigued that she felt something similar to what he felt. "Now. Tell me what you were doin' when you lost control."

He haltingly explained how he had herded the electricity behind the storm clouds, how it had generated the lightning bolt he was aiming for, how it had spun out of his control, leading to the lightning storm and the fire. He left out the vampire trucker and the explosion; those were irrelevant, he figured.

She listened with fascination. When he was done, she smiled slowly, somewhat smugly. Her attitude of superiority made him twitch. "Tch. Of course it went boom. Playin' in the big leagues, you were. You pushed too many electrons hither and yon, pilin' them up like that. Clouds, the earth - well, any large amount of one of the elements - very powerful stuff. Touchy. They require delicate handling, not great big sweeps of power. Just a wee nudge will do! So. Out with the scotch now, get yourself a glass, fill it up, and let's start. Fire, I think, will do. A candle flame, eh?" She swept her hands gently across the table in front of herself, nodded, and grabbed another candle, lighting it with a murmur.

He blinked, shrugged, pulled out one of the bottles, and poured himself a glass. He also pulled out a flask, laying it on the table beside the glass. She gave it a skeptical glance.

"What? Scotch isn't enough for you?" she asked lightly.

He smiled thinly at her. "We all have our good luck symbols. This is mine." She shrugged, not really interested. Then she pulled out a deck of cards.

"What's that for?" he asked.

"Well. You're not goin' to get drunk quickly, are you? I figured we'd play a game while we drank. Fill me a glass, too, would you?" She smiled sweetly at him.

She was a deadly gin rummy player. He fell further and further behind as they drank, she lightly, him gulping down scotch from the glass and sips from his flask. He made sure to turn slightly away when he took those sips, and swished the scotch around in his mouth right afterwards, so no tell-tale blood showed on his mouth.

The sipping made the high much slower to affect him, which made sense. Usually, he was desperate enough by the time he drank the blood that he slugged it down, and it hit him fast. This time, however, it was not a tidal wave, but more like a high tide coming in. He could feel it building up, hazing his brain, filling him slowly with the tingling ache, the feeling of exhilaration. By the time Rowena decided it was time to start playing with the fire, his eyes were gleaming and he was feeling reckless and wild. He speech had begun slurring, and he snickered at her tales of scheming against the Grand Coven, her final showdown with Olivette.

He tried very hard to keep in mind that what he was looking for, here, was to control this wave of giddy abandon he felt. He frowned deeply as he realized that even under these controlled circumstances, it might not work, because...well...frankly, the way he felt after drinking Crowley's blood, the rising exhilaration, the pulse of the power racing through his body - he didn't want control.

There came a point where she decided he was drunk enough.

"Now, then, Samuel," she said lightly, placing the candle in front of him. "You seem to work with energy. Fire is energy, too. So. Take the flame and...well, _do_ something with it. We'll see what happens." She shrugged.

He tilted a laconic eyebrow at her, gave her a lazy smile, reached forward with a hand, and pulled the flame into it, letting it dance there for a moment. Then he started spilling it from hand to hand. He watched the flame, entranced, and then started pulling it between his fingers, stretching it out, dazed by its beauty, tracing each individual strand of whirling molecules, feeling its heat but no burn. He reached with his mind and curled it into a ball that he set hovering above his hands.

"So lovely," he breathed. He caressed the hovering ball of fire with one hand, and reached with his mind to gather just a bit more fuel from the air. He slid a glance at Rowena, smiled slyly, and began pulling it like taffy, adding more and more. She was watching sharply, glancing from the ball of flames to his face and back again.

There was a moment when he felt it start to slip loose, begin to take in more fuel than he wanted. He gasped at the feeling of it trying to run free, then struggled, focusing hard, and managed to pull the reaction back under his control. After a moment to catch his breath, he went back to molding the fire.

Finally, she laughed softly as she realized what he was doing. He was sculpting the flame, making a finely shaped head, with a slender nose, and curls of flame tumbling down like a waterfall of red hair.

"Like it?" he murmured. She clasped her hands together, like a child, and smiled broadly, with the faintest of blushes creeping up her cheeks beneath her powder.

"Oh! 'Tis lovely, Samuel! Now, see, you are being cautious, I can tell, and you have it totally controlled. See? It _can_ be done!" she crowed. She stood up, came around the table to stand next to him. She placed one hand on his shoulder and reached out with the other to touch the flame sculpture with a delicate finger.

At her touch, it collapsed like a soap bubble. The flames fell to the table, igniting the paper towel she had used to wipe her sweat. Rowena's hand clenched hard on his shoulder, and she said sharply, "Tch! I'm sorry! But you need to stop it, now!" Sam hurriedly tried to recapture the flame, but he couldn't focus, distracted by something...he realized it was her hand touching him, her closeness, the power sliding through his veins and making his skin sensitive, his response.

He groaned, hurriedly grabbed the nearest bottle and poured it on the flames. The scotch immediately ignited, sending a wash of blue flame skittering across the table. He blushed with embarrassment and fury at his stupidity: he had been thinking "liquid" when he grabbed the bottle, not "alcohol". "Damn!" he hissed, and fumbled for his coat instead, slung it over the tabletop, pushed it down to smother the growing fire. He was beating it, she was by his side pounding it down as well, and finally, finally, the fire went out.

Sam collapsed in his chair, panting, and Rowena slumped against the chair arm, her hair awry and her breathing hard, as well.

"Well!" she said in relief, her hands trembling. "Now that, my boy, could have been a problem!" She laughed shakily. Without thought, he slid an arm around her waist, pulled her close, and smiled triumphantly up at her.

"But it wasn't. We handled it."

She looked down at him, pursing her lips into a tiny frown. "Aye. We handled it. The old-fashioned way, not with power. And that, giant, is something you need to work on. Spells go belly up, power slips out of control - "

"Distractions happen..." He smiled slowly, lazily up at her, and slid his hand slowly down to her hip. She looked down at him again, then her breath caught and her eyes widened.

"Samuel!" she said, surprised. He turned slightly, placed his other hand on her other hip, and pulled her, resisting only slightly, into his lap. "This is not what I was expectin'!" Her long red curls fell about his face.

"Hmmmm. Neither was I," he murmured. "But you'd be a fool not to have felt it all along." He twirled one long curl about a finger and laughed, his head spinning with the power, her scent, the ache in his body. He tangled his hands in her hair and pulled her head down, kissing her slowly, gently, and then, when her lips opened beneath his, kissing her fiercely, harder, growling softly, his heart pounding. He shifted her slight body easily, sliding her long skirt up with one hand on her slender, silky leg, then abruptly stood up, lifting her to sit on the table. Her legs slipped around his waist and she was clutching him to her, murmuring incomprehensibly in Gaelic, her hands pulling his shirt off while his were pushing her dress up over her torso, and then he was lost in a whirl of passion and power.


	12. Should I Stay Or Should I Go (The Clash)

"Hello, boys."

Dean was so startled he leaped in the car seat, hands jerking the steering wheel. "Holy _SHIT_!" he yelled.

The car slewed crazily across the pavement as he tried to bring it back under control. Cas hurriedly grabbed the hanging strap above the passenger door. Dean pulled the car back into his lane just as a semi rumbled past, blaring its horn, the driver giving him the finger. He yanked the wheel towards the shoulder and slammed on the brakes.

He swiveled in his seat, starting to shake his finger, only to jerk back as he found Crowley's face less than two feet away from his. Crowley smiled broadly, leaning his arms across the top of the two front seats.

"My. That was exciting," he said lightly.

"Dude. Do _not_ do that, dammit!"

"What?" He sounded offended. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

"Your appearance _was_ somewhat abrupt," Cas said dryly. Crowley twitched a sardonic eyebrow up.

"My apologies, boys. I'll try not to do it again. Now. To business." He tapped Dean's seat back with a brisk finger.

"Business. You poof without warning into the back seat of my car, nearly cause an accident, and now you're yammering about 'business'?" Dean's voice rose dangerously.

"I love you, too, Squirrel." Crowley mimed a kiss. "Cassie here sent my Dani-girl a picture, asking what a particular symbol was. I am here to enlighten you." He paused and tilted his head slightly, smiling and raising his eyebrows. "That is, assuming you _want_ enlightenment, darlings." Dean mumbled something incoherent, but waved his hand in agreement. Crowley tapped Cas on the shoulder, held out his own hand. "Let me see the original, angel. Your photo was terrible, simply terrible. Enochian sigils are fiddly things, and that blurry picture smeared some twirls and twiddles. It means the difference between capturing a mouse or setting a curse on a killer whale."

Cas frowned at him, but reached down to the floor and retrieved his sketch, handing it over.

Crowley held it between the seat backs, peering at it. "Mmm hmmm. Well. That clears it up." He dropped it back on Cas's lap. "Reaper trap, pets. So who do you know that's setting traps for Reapers, hmm?" He looked back and forth between the two, eyes bright and interested.

Dean slammed his fist on the dashboard. "Reaper! Of course! Dammit, Cas, how could we forget that Reapers can get into - " He stopped abruptly, glaring at Crowley.

He smiled gently. "Get into...? My. This is very interesting." He slouched back in the seat, crossing his legs, folding his arms, and looked idly up at the roof of the car, lips pursed. "Now, where can Reapers go that most people can't?" he asked lightly. "A place Dean doesn't want to reveal, for some reason. I wonder," he drawled. He started ticking ideas off on his fingers. "There's Heaven...there's Hell...oh! And there's Purgatory!" He stopped, smirking at Dean.

"Oh, give it a rest, Crowley!" Dean growled. "Yeah, yeah. We're looking for someone who's trying to trap a Reaper to get into Purgatory. Big whoop."

Crowley pouted. "But you didn't want me to know!"

"Considering the last time you had any interaction with Purgatory, I can understand Dean's hesitation," Cas pointed out.

Crowley regarded him sourly and pursed his lips. "Considering that the last time _you_ had any interaction with Purgatory, after being blown there while cleaning up the Leviathan mess - _which_ you started, by the way - it's a wonder Squirrel here has anything to do with you whatsoever," he said waspishly. Cas narrowed his eyes at him, but said nothing.

Dean held up his hands placatingly and shook his head. "Guys. Guys. Quit the bickering." He paused and glared at both of them equally, fully expecting one of them to say, "But _he_ started it!" Cas folded his lips and arms and pointedly stared out the passenger window. Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Are we done with the drama?" Dean asked sarcastically after a moment of quiet. Cas drew a deep breath, held it for a moment, then breathed out and relaxed, looking back. Crowley merely smiled and spread his hands, as if to show he was more than willing to drop it. Dean shook his head again, ran a hand across the back of his neck. "Children. I'm dealing with children," he muttered to an invisible audience. He returned his attention to Crowley. "Charlie wants to go to Purgatory for some reason. I expect she trapped the Reaper to get her there. We tried to stop her, but Cas got there too late."

Crowley listened with polite interest, and at this point leaned forward to say, in a confidential tone, "As to why, I think I can help you there, mate. Y'see, the other day she tried to sell her soul to me - "

" _WHAT?_!?" Dean roared, appalled. Cas's head whipped around, his teeth bared in a feral grimace, and growled low in his throat. Dean reached over the back of his seat for Crowley, who fell back into his seat to avoid the grasping hands. "You slimy, double-crossing son of a bitch! You have the gall to sit there and tell us you - you filthy bastard! I should have killed you ages ago!"

Crowley threw him an exasperated look. " _MORON_!" he bellowed back. He settled back, shrugging his coat back into order and brushing a speck of dust off his sleeve. "Did I _SAY_ I had sealed the deal? Would I be _here_ if I had?" he asked acidly. He eyed Dean cautiously, and watched as he digested that and slowly, slowly relaxed back into his seat. But his eyes were still narrowed dangerously, and he emanated a ready willingness to spring back into action if he didn't like what Crowley was saying.

Crowley finally continued, "I did _not_ , in fact, buy Charlie Bradbury's soul." He paused, and added, "However. You might be interested to know _why_ she wanted to deal. Eh?" He cocked an eyebrow, smiled slightly, and waved one hand invitingly.

Dean flexed his jaw muscles a few times before answering, "Spill. And fast. And pray I like your answer."

Crowley puffed out an amused breath. "Well, I can't say you'll _like_ it..." he teased. When Cas growled again, he hastily added, "Oh, very well. You two are hair-trigger maniacs, did you know that?" he groused. "Anyway. Miss Bradbury was interested in selling her soul to end Moose's renewed demon blood addiction." Dean stared at him, dumbfounded, exchanged glances with Cas, and then slumped in his seat, groaning.

"Charlie, Charlie, Charlie," he chanted sadly beneath his breath, shaking his head. He knuckled his fists against his temples. "Just...just...dammit." He sounded defeated.

Crowley watched him with interest, saying nothing. When he judged that Dean had calmed down again, he continued. "Dani insisted I leave her bestie alone. You will be pleased to know that I have ordered no demon deals be made with her." Dean nodded, staring glumly out at the bleak countryside. "The upshot is that Dani suspects Miss Bradbury is venturing into Purgatory to look for the...um...Book of the Saved, in hopes that it contains a spell that might help."

Dean and Cas were silent.

Crowley waited a beat or two, then sat up, rubbed his hand across his beard, and shrugged. "Well. Having passed that little tidbit on, I'll be go - " He stopped abruptly, blinked, and said, "Oh - And if you're looking for Samantha, the last I heard, he was still headed west. Cheers!" He vanished.

* * *

They drove on, both of them not speaking, the radio playing softly as background music.

Dean still dreamed of Purgatory sometimes. The heat, the humidity, the lowering, eternal cloud cover. The constant, urgent vigilance. The feeling, every second, that your life depended entirely on your ability to react instantly, your willingness to deal death in a wild variety of ways. The knowledge that, even if you dispatched one set of monsters, there was another group waiting somewhere in the brush, and yet another behind that. The desperate need to depend on Benny, Cas, to be there, to back him up, to slide a blade into a monster sneaking up behind him, or slash a head off while he was dealing with something else. Fighting, fighting, fighting - a never-ending cycle of killing, with only quick breaks to drink from the streams, lean against a tree or rock, catch your breath, relax for a precious moment or two.

He'd wake up from those dreams sweating, teeth clenched, and spend an hour or two wide awake with the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Then it would slowly, gradually, seep out, and he'd be able to reassure himself that, while things were bad (they always were), at least he was no longer a killing machine.

Then Crowley had maneuvered him into taking on the Mark of Cain, and he slowly slipped back into the game of violence and death, only this time, more and more often, it was humans, sometimes even friends, who were the targets. That year had been a slow slide into becoming a monster himself, though he had fought it, pushed it off, postponed the inevitable as long as he could by focusing on the job, on Sam and Charlie and Cas. The short sojourn as a demon himself had been (he never admitted to anyone) a relief. The total lack of caring about consequences, responsibilities, had been refreshing. He could fight who he wanted, when he felt like it, and shrug it off. He could fuck who he wanted, when he wanted, and never feel a single tug on his nonexistent heart. He could drink himself into a stupor with no old memories creeping up to stun him with pain.

Then Sam had dragged him, kicking and screaming, back to humanity. Back to the effects of the Mark.

 _Then_ Sam had sacrificed himself totally, given his body over to Lucifer, to remove the Mark.

And when they got Sam - _Sammy,_ his baby brother, who he was always supposed to look after! - back, and he was damaged, Dean had sneered at the damage, flung his irrational fear and hatred of psychic abilities in his face, driven him away...

Now Charlie, the little sister he had never had, who he would protect just as ferociously as he would protect Sam, was about to dance blithely into Purgatory on some fool's errand to save Sam, and he had no way of knowing where she was, no way to stop her. All he could do was pray she survived.

And Crowley was hinting that their chase through the farmlands of Indiana was a bust, that Sam had moved west instead. Not that he was inclined to _trust_ Crowley - gods, no - but, still...It was one thing about Crowley that you could depend on: he might misdirect, mislead, omit pertinent details to manipulate people, and everything he did had layers, one of which always benefitted Crowley himself, but he didn't directly lie. In this case, Dean had absolutely no clue why he would be misdirecting, either.

So now what were they supposed to do? Dean clenched his hands on the steering wheel and stared blindly at the road before them, driving on.

Without warning, Cas turned to him and said, "So what do you think we should do? Should we continue south, or start heading more westward?"

Dean blinked. It was as if Cas were -

"Dude. You aren't reading my mind or something, are you?" he asked suspiciously.

Cas blanched and jerked his head back. "I would never - _never!_ \- do that!" he responded passionately. "It would be - be - a betrayal of trust. You _never_ read someone's mind unless you have been invited! It just isn't done." He folded his lips angrily.

Dean chewed on that thoughtfully for a moment. "Hunh. Really. Then what about Zachariah going into Adam's dreams, you going into mine a coupla times?"

Cas blushed. "That is...is...different. You're still not reading their minds..."

"I dunno...dreams can be pretty revealing," Dean mused, rubbing his jaw.

Cas snapped, "Can we return to the question at hand, please?" Dean couldn't help feeling that if he kept pushing the issue, some interesting things might be revealed. But, still, the question was pressing. He pulled the car to the side of the road and turned to look at Cas.

"Okay, then. What do you think we should do? I'm torn."

Cas reluctantly said, "Perhaps we should head back north, go further west of Nappanee. I can think of no reason why Crowley would lie."

Dean drummed his hands on the wheel, thinking. Then, finally, he nodded. "Okay, then. Back north and west of Nappanee it is." He pulled the car out, peered both ways at the nonexistent traffic, made a u-turn, and began driving back north.

"I just hope Charlie is okay," he muttered softly. Cas nodded silent agreement, eyes grim.

* * *

Sam woke slowly, unusual in itself. He was lying on a hard surface covered by a layer of fabric, which was also draped over him. He dimly realized his arm was curled around soft flesh, a naked body that molded into his quite nicely; without thinking, he pulled the warm, feminine flesh closer, breathed in the scent, his body automatically beginning to respond -

His eyes snapped open.

A cascade of red hair was tickling his chin.

He froze. Flashes of memory from the previous evening ran through his head, disconnected and jarring.

 _Oh, shit. I had sex with Rowena._

Never mind that it had been _good_ sex. What he remembered of it. Sex while on a power high had proven incredibly...interesting. Especially with someone who also had power.

He shied away from the thought.

 _I am an idiot._

What the fuck was he going to do now?! This had to be one of his biggest mistakes recently; in fact, it was up there with getting involved with Ruby.

He slowly, carefully, withdrew his arm from around her, cautiously eased himself backward. When she shifted and mumbled sleepily, he froze again, eyes wide. But she merely turned away from him, curling into herself like a cat, and he began the move to extricate himself again.

When he finally slid from beneath the coverlet and slowly stood up straight, he could see that they had been curled up on, and covered by, Rowena's cloak.

 _Thank god I was on the opening side - !_

He ran his hand through his long hair, and glanced around. The warding was gone. One of the warding candles was on the floor, two had been knocked over and had rolled, dripping wax, to the edge of the table; the chalked warding circle was totally smudged; ashes from the silver bowl and the small fire were scattered, smashed, into the tabletop; the empty scotch bottle had apparently fallen off the table and shattered...

He closed his eyes, shook himself, then quickly grabbed his clothes from where they were strewn across the floor, and dashed quietly to the tiny warehouse bathroom. He scrubbed himself with water from the sink and drew his clothes on, pausing at one point to lean on the sink, stare at himself the small mirror, and proclaim, "You. Are. A. Fucking. Idiot." Then he leaned his forehead against the mirror, pressing hard to ease the headache left over from the scotch and the power high.

He was sitting on one of the chairs, silently pulling on his boots and lacing them up, when he realized Rowena was awake. She sat up, pulling the cloak up, snuggling under it, and regarding him with a slow, smug smile.

He focused on finishing tying his boot, stood up, and said abruptly, not looking at her, "I'm going out." He headed to the door.

Her amused voice followed him. "Ohhh, so that's the way we're going to be playin' it, eh? Very well, then."

A muscle flexed in his jaw, and he escaped out the door, into the cold winter air, with a sigh of relief.

* * *

Doli had chopped off her braid.

When she nonchalantly hacked it off in front of her, Charlie had been astonished. And regretful - the braid had been extremely long, and had obviously taken the Navajo woman Doli based her body off of a long, long time to grow out. But, she figured, Doli, just using the physical form temporarily, would have no emotional attachment to it.

Still, it puzzled her.

When she asked, Doli had looked at her mildly, and said simply, "Long hair is dangerous in Purgatory."

That flat statement made Charlie both nervous and glad she had cut her own hair a few years back.

They stood before the boulder that was Doli's entrance to Purgatory. Charlie had her small daypack, filled with food and water, the katana poking out over her shoulders. Doli looked at her, pursed her lips, and said, quietly, "Take the katana out, and have it ready."

That made Charlie even more nervous. "We're not going to be there too long, are we?" Her voice squeaked a bit on the question, and she mentally shouted at herself to cool it.

Doli twitched a tiny smile. "At best, a few days. At worst..." She shrugged. "Maybe a few weeks? I have only been there physically a few times. I always guide the souls in, give them a short time to adjust, then leave. I was led there to see the Book's hiding place, and have been taken back by captors a few times. I was only there a short while each of those times." She looked out over the winter landscape. "It was easy to maneuver greedy fools, to lull them into relaxation. The monsters did the rest."

Charlie shuddered. "Oh!" she said, in a small voice.

Doli looked back at her and smiled again. "I will not do that to you. Which is why I want you to have your weapon in hand when we go through."

Charlie nodded, once. Doli turned back to the boulder and raised one hand. A small spot appeared on the surface, then grew, a whirling blue iridescence with a black center. The black center faded, and the form of trees, bushes, watery sunlight took its place. When the center seemed large enough, Doli held out her hand, clasped Charlie's, and led her through.


	13. Purgatory (Pat Benetar)

It had been a long day. After the encounter with Dean and Cas, he had spent hours - hours! - wheeling and dealing with leaders of factions his Dani-girl had identified. Since most of them were neither cunning nor intelligent (two decidedly separate things), it had been draining. And boring. There were times - though he would never, ever admit it - that he actually missed Mother. She, at least, had a quick wit, and sparring with her and countering her schemes had been amusing.

So far, all his plans were beginning to bear fruit, which satisfied him.

Right now, though, he just wanted some peace and quiet. So he flitted to Dani's condo, appearing in the living room, and perched quietly on the arm of her sofa, one leg swinging idly, watching her immersed in her research. So immersed that she hadn't even heard him appear. She had some classical music playing softly, fiddly Baroque stuff that made him grimace at first - he had heard way too much of it over the years. But still, it was quiet and relaxing.

He spent a few minutes just watching her, a small smile on his face. Then he snapped his fingers softly, and his latest history of torture appeared on the table, along with a bottle of precious Talisker Single Malt (not his most rare, but the one he drank the most). He poured himself a glass, settled into the corner of the sofa with his book and scotch, and felt all the tension and boredom ooze away.

An unknown time later, he heard the music change, to something with a vaguely Celtic, vaguely Moorish sound. He looked up, and Dani was swaying to the music, then she flipped her laptop closed, stood, stretched with arms above her head and eyes closed. Then she began to twirl around, eyes still closed, moving fluidly to the music. He flipped up an intrigued eyebrow: he had never seen this side of her.

She stopped abruptly, her eyes open and fixed on him. She was blushing faintly.

"How long have you been here?" she asked.

A small smile flickered across his lips. "Long enough," he drawled.

"Humph. It's not nice to spy on people."

He stood up and sauntered over, sliding his hands around her waist and pulling her forward. "I am not 'nice'."

She poked him in the chest. "Tell me something I don't know."

He tilted his head back a bit, pursed his lips, and said lightly, "Very well: Your friend Charlie is definitely heading off to Purgatory to look for that book."

She stiffened and pulled back slightly, frowning. "Damn it! Do you think she's still here, or has she gone through? Can I get to her in time to talk some sense into her, d'you think?"

"I felt a slight disturbance in the Force - " he teased.

"Oh, you ass! Here or there?"

He grinned. "There, I suspect. When I talked to Squirrel and his boyfriend, they seemed quite sure she was going through at any moment."

"Just...just... _why_?!" she wailed softly. "First she tries to sell you her soul, now this!"

"Love and loyalty, pet," he said thoughtfully. "Two very dangerous emotions that make people do very dangerous things."

She looked at him, equally thoughtful, and said nothing.

"Speaking of which - " He let his hands drop, stepped back, and, without warning, aimed a blast of power at her. She absent-mindedly deflected it with a small motion, and aimed a hefty return blast at him, which he blocked. He regarded her with narrowed eyes, then nodded. "Good. So you _have_ been working with Jemma." He wouldn't have put it past her to ignore his plan and simply bury herself in her research.

She nodded with a sour expression. "I may not like her, but she's actually a good teacher. And I suppose I need to know these things..."

He nodded back, serious. "Good. I don't like her much myself, but 'liking' is neither here nor there. She was a good minister, and supports me fully. Keep practicing."

She rolled her eyes. "Innie-Me insists."

He arched his eyebrows in surprise. He and Dani's meat-suit agreed on something? Astonishing. "Really. Remind me to buy her some cookies," he drawled.

She smiled widely.

"And how is the research on those spells I wanted coming?"

She sighed and ran a hand through her short hair, leaving it standing straight up. He suppressed a fond smile. "Nothing on the anti-summoning front. And a lot of blather about witches on the stealing-someone's-power front."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Tell me."

She snorted softly. "Well. There are three types of witches - "

He interrupted impatiently, "Natural, demon-bound, and hard-working, nose-to-the-grindstone worker bees with no talent and little power. Yes, yes, I know all that."

She frowned at him, folding her lips. "Look. Shall I tell you, or are you going to assume you know it all already?"

He held up his hand, acknowledging the hit. She glared at him and waited a beat, to see if he was going to interrupt any more. He folded his hands in front of himself and smiled innocently, saying nothing.

"Anyway." She paused, squinting at him. When he was still silent, she continued, "It's the second kind we're interested in. To become that kind of witch, you pray to the Dark Lord, contact a demon, and the demon _gives_ you some power."

Crowley's eyes widened. "Ahhhh."

She smiled at him. "You see it. I always knew there was a brain somewhere in that sexy body."

"Hmmm. I could always pray to myself - that's easy enough," he smirked, his eyes glinting. She rolled her own eyes and made a face at him. "Though I suspect witches are actually expected to pray to Lucifer." He shuddered. "Over my dead body. Which is what would happen if I actually did that. But the demon has to give the power...?" He chewed his lips, frowning absently at her display of Day of the Dead figurines. "That won't do. At all. I need to be able to _take_ it."

She shook her finger at him. "Ah ah ah! Here's where it gets interesting. The deal is sealed with a kiss. Sound familiar? However, there's nothing, anywhere, that says the demon involved agrees. Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't." She held her hand out, wiggled it back and forth. "The writing just says that the power is transferred. Maybe it's the kiss that does it. Like the kiss seals - usually - a crossroads deal."

He gazed at her expressionlessly, rubbing thumb and forefinger thoughtfully across his lips.

"I would prefer something...long-distance. Let me know if you find it. But I can work with that approach, if necessary." He smiled slowly, realizing that stealing power with a kiss actually appealed to him more. It was...so poetic. But strategically, long-distance was best. In the meantime...

"We need to test it," he said. He abruptly pulled Dani close, kissed her deeply, and tried reaching with his mind, something that, amazingly, he had never tried before. Ever. With anyone.

He reached, then pulled, and _something_ came with it, through her lips, into him. At the same time, she whimpered and flinched. He kept pulling. She whimpered again, tried to turn her head to the side, but he clasped his hands hard on either side of it so she couldn't move, kept his lips fastened on hers, focused on pulling her power out.

Suddenly, he staggered; Dani had flitted, and he was holding empty air. She reappeared immediately on the other side of the living room, pale, panting, eyes wide and flashing beetle black, her hands clenched in fists. He regained his balance and looked at her with hooded eyes, stroking his beard with his thumb, deep in thought.

He tested the limits of his power idly, and could feel it had expanded. How long would the effect last? He would have to keep track. He would also have to pin down whoever he stole from with his power, so they wouldn't escape before he was done, the way Dani had.

His musing was interrupted by a solid roundhouse slap to his cheek that knocked his head to the side. He snapped back to full alertness, and his hand shot out to stop another swing from her.

"You utter asshole!" she seethed. Her eyes were still black.

He held her arm up and away in an iron grip, his face expressionless. When she stopped pressing forward with it, he let it drop, but stayed on guard. She attacked again, no movement signaling it beforehand, but he blocked again, ready this time. He pulled her forward by her trapped arm, with a thin, one-sided smile. "Now, now, pet," he said mockingly. "I don't take attacks against me very well, you should know by now."

He was suddenly aroused; the knowledge that he had her in his control physically, that he knew she could be brought to shivering desire for him with just a few expert touches, no matter how angry she was, that she enjoyed their little dominance games as much as he did. He pulled her tight against him, her one arm pinned to her side, the other imprisoned behind her back, still in his grip, and held her there as she struggled angrily. He used his other hand to slowly trace her lips, and then slid it down to brush lightly against the skin at the base of her throat, further down to slide, feather-light, around her breasts, and then back up to tease around her ear. His smile widened as he heard her breathing catch and felt her body relax into his in that particular way she had. He leaned forward to kiss her, but she jerked her head away.

"No power theft," she breathed.

"None," he murmured back.

She turned her head back, and whispered against his lips, "It _hurt_ , you bastard!"

"Well. At least now we know it works, pet."

She pulled her head back, looked at him, frowning slightly, mind working. "So if it works, why haven't we heard about it before? Why isn't it mentioned in any of my sources?"

"Oh, I suspect that anyone who has come across this before has kept it very, _very_ quiet. Quite a useful tool, don't you think?" He looked down at her with shrewd eyes.

She stared over his shoulder, her own eyes unfocused. He poked her. "Less thinking. More kissing."

She ignored him. "So what did it feel like for you? It hurt for me. Like, a _lot..._ "

He sighed, accepting that the moment was over. She was already examining the entire interaction, ticking it over in her head, probably planning to dive back into her research to see if there were any veiled references she had missed. Damn.

* * *

Doli dropped her hand and stood quietly looking around, tilting her head, alert.

The first thing that hit Charlie was the humidity. Gah. She hated humidity. Most of her adult life had been spent in drier country; she didn't like feeling like she was swimming through the air.

Then there was the heat. Between it and the humidity, her skin already had a slight sheen of sweat.

There were sounds. Insects singing. The buzz of flies and - ugh! - mosquitoes. Rustling in the bushes, sounding directionless. Wind sighing through the leaves on the trees. A stone suddenly rattled down other stones, off to her left.

And the smell. Damp. Rich. Loamy. A whiff of rotting vegetation.

She had been to Louisiana once, in the summer. This reminded her very much of that, though she could see no moss dripping from the trees.

She held her katana lightly, turned in place, scanned around her. It was open forest; little underbrush, duff underfoot overlaid with dead leaves. There were boulders of differing size - granite, it looked like - scattered about. She eyed them, thinking it would be easy for someone - some thing - to ambush them from behind or atop one.

Doli said softly, "This way," gesturing to their left. "Quietly." She set out, and Charlie followed.

They moved cautiously downhill, threading between trees, curving around the bigger boulders. The footing was uneven, with rocks and pebbles hiding beneath the duff, and tree roots seemed to sprout from the ground at odd intervals, nowhere near the base of the trees, ready to trip them. The sweat had already seeped into her hair, and when she pushed a stray strand away from her face, behind her ear, it plastered against her skin stickily. Within minutes, she had a number of mosquito bites, which she scratched at with her free hand.

Doli headed down a small, rocky scree beside a large boulder, then staggered, slipped, twisted herself upright. The sound of the rocks she dislodged tumbling down the steep spot echoed unnervingly loudly, shattering the quiet murmur of the woods. Charlie followed her down, placing her feet carefully to avoid the same mishap. She could see light reflecting off a stream down below them, in flashes between the trees. The ground leveled out, and they were beside the stream. Doli crouched down, dipped her hand in the water, rubbed it across her face and sighed.

"Physicality," she murmured. "So inconvenient."

Charlie had settled herself into the kind of watchfulness that had become natural to her during her time as a guerrilla fighter in Oz, so the rustle and movement that preceded the attack alerted her. She was already pulling the katana out of its sheath and falling into a fighting stance when the - whatever it was - came barreling at her. She raised the katana in both hands in a graceful, circular motion; the blade slashed into flesh, raising a spray of red-black ooze, and the creature fell back. Doli had already started moving; now she stood behind the creature, splayed her hand across the back of its head, and a flash of white light erupted from its eyes, mouth, nostrils, and it fell, motionless, to the ground.

Charlie flicked the goo off her katana with a practiced move, then pulled out a cloth to carefully wipe the rest off and re-sheathed it. She was panting lightly. "What the hell _is_ that thing?" she asked, looking down at it. It looked vaguely human, but aside from that...

Doli shrugged. "I do not know." She dismissed it, returned to the stream. Charlie followed, dipped her own hand in, splashed her face to remove some of the sweat. It felt pleasantly cool. Doli looked over at her. "There will be more. Streams - water - it draws them. But this is the path we must follow." She nodded upstream with her chin.

"Great. More things," Charlie sighed.

Doli smiled briefly. "Be glad there was only one. This time." She stood up and started walking beside the stream in the direction she had indicated. Charlie crouched by the water a little longer, then stood up herself and began making her way upstream, too.

By the time it got - not dark, but almost dark; it seemed that there was no real night in Purgatory - they had been attacked three more times. Once, it was a gang of vampires. Once, a disparate group containing a ghoul, a werewolf, and a kitsune. The final time, it was a small, brown, twig-like creature with a fat belly and a frog-like head filled with teeth. When Charlie stabbed that one, it covered her blade with sticky brown ooze; she had to actually use water to get it off. She shuddered. "That one was just creepy as hell," she muttered. Doli nodded agreement.

"We can stay here the night," she said, looking around them. "I will ward us." She pulled out a small knife, nicked her arm, and began moving about the small flat area next to the stream, using her blood to make markings at regular intervals. Her short, coarse, uneven black hair swayed in sweaty clumps around her face as she moved.

Charlie sank to the ground, tired. She was filthy, the mosquito bites itched like the devil, and she needed to take care of her weapon. She slung off her daypack, sat down, pulled out her cleaning kit. She first wiped the blade down with a tissue, removing the debris that had gathered on it. Then she dusted it with the uchiko ball and carefully wiped it with a new tissue, repeating it on the other side of the blade. Then she lightly ran the cloth with choji oil down the blade, and wiped the sheen of oil off with yet another tissue. She resheathed the katana and laid it gently aside. Cleaning her weapon was a nicely meditative routine that calmed her down.

She grabbed the pack again, rummaged in it to pull out a protein bar, jerky, and water. She ripped open the bar and bit into it, looking around.

"So, Doli," she said. "That hand against the head thing you do - it's like what Cas does when he smites demons. So are Reapers angels, too?"

Doli had sat down near Charlie after finishing the last warding sigil and watched the cleaning ritual with interest. Now, she looked at Charlie with a small smile. "Angels? Yes. And no. We are...different."

"Oh." Well, that was clear as mud. Doli smiled more broadly, as if she were reading Charlie's mind and was amused by the comment.

"Eat. Drink. Rest. We will be near the book late tomorrow or early the next day."

"Great," Charlie murmured. "You're sure we're safe? I can relax for a bit?"

"Yes. And yes." Doli responded.

"Okay, then!" Charlie quickly finished eating and drinking, and slid down to lie on the ground. She pulled her daypack over and punched it into shape, rested her head on it, and quickly fell asleep.

Doli sat quietly, motionless, her dark eyes scanning the heavy twilight for more monsters.

* * *

By the time Sam returned to the rented warehouse space, he had come to a decision. It was night again, and Rowena was waiting by the door, her hair gleaming darkly in the dim light, her cloak pulled tight to keep the cold wind out. He nodded curtly to her, unlocked the warehouse door, and went in. He flipped on the lights, strode to the table, and turned around, arms folded, to watch her expressionlessly as she approached.

"I've decided that I won't need your help anymore," he said abruptly.

She stopped, unlaced the throat of her cloak, slipped it off, and held it folded over her arm. Finally, she gave him a tight, one-sided smile. "Oh, have y'now, giant?" Her tone was light, amused.

He clenched his jaw and nodded, once. "I watched the warding spell. I can do it myself. I don't need you." He paused, and added, grudgingly, "Thanks."

Her smile broadened. "Really?" She drew the word out sarcastically. "An expert you are now, eh? Well, then. I saw it when the flames started to get loose from you, last night. I saw how you had to struggle to be gettin' it back under control, warding spell or no. The warding has nothin' to do with what happens inside, d'y'see - it just keeps it from escaping outside."

She paused. He frowned at her, deep furrows in his forehead, and leaned back on the table. "I'll find a way to keep it under control," he snapped.

She stepped closer, dropped her cloak on one of the chairs, and sat gracefully in the other. She crossed her legs, smoothed down her vivid red dress, and tilted her head slightly down, sliding her eyes to look at him sideways with a tiny smile. "So do be telling me, Samuel. What will you be doing if the fire escapes again, and you _can't_ get it back under control? When you are here alone in this giant space with no-one to help you? When the flames engulf this room and suck the air out from it, say? Like the lightning got away from you?"

His mouth twitched angrily, involuntarily, and he ground his teeth as the truth of what she said sank in. He couldn't think of anything to say to counter her.

She turned to face him better, eyebrows lifted and a slightly smug look on her face. "So perhaps you might be needin' my help after all?" She stopped again, and nodded her head at the remaining bottles of scotch. "And drinking by yourself would be a tedious task, giant. Just think, all alone in this great echoing place, no companionship, nothing to do but drink and chew over your past, think about your _dear_ brother and how you've let him down _so_ many times, and how this is yet another..." Her light voice slid the emotional knife in so smoothly, so gently, it took a moment to register.

When it did, his lips tightened, and he jerked his head down and to the side, away from her. She didn't know the alcohol was a cover, but, still. He _had_ been drinking, and when he did, her description fit perfectly. Again, he had no response.

She waited, then finally stood up, smoothed her dress once more, and stepped to the table. "Well!" she said lightly. "I'm glad we had this little chat! I'll just be doin' the warding spell again, now." She flapped a graceful hand at him as if to shoo him away. He slowly pulled a chair out from the table, placing it a safe distance away, sat down, and desperately tried to figure out how she had gotten her way, after all.

She reminded him very strongly of her son.


	14. Dust In The Wind (Kansas)

When Charlie woke up, she was already covered with sweat, her mouth tasted like old sneakers, and some kind of bug had crawled under her clothes during the night and left a neat trail of itching bites right beneath the bottom of her bra.

Normally she was a very cheery person, but one thing all her girlfriends agreed on was that she was just nasty when she first woke up in the morning. It was bad enough that it had prompted at least one spectacular break-up. Today's sweat, sneaker taste, and bug bites didn't help. She sat up with a grimace, glared darkly at Doli, who looked like she hadn't moved an inch since Charlie fell asleep, smacked her dry lips, and staggered to the stream to wash some of the sweat off. Then she returned to her daypack, rummaged in it, and pulled out a water bottle and a packet of instant coffee. She threw the coffee in the water, sealed the bottle, and took out her grumpiness by shaking it viciously.

It wasn't good coffee, but it was the best she'd get around here, that was for sure.

Doli made one attempt to speak, but Charlie narrowed her eyes at her, bared her teeth, and growled softly. It was halfway a joke. Doli wisely closed her mouth.

She slowly returned to humanity while drinking the room temperature coffee.

Finally, bottle empty, caffeine kicking in, she looked at Doli and flashed an apologetic grin. "Sorry! I'm just a demon after a night's sleep." Doli looked alarmed for a moment, then relaxed, realizing that she didn't mean it literally. She looked up the stream and stood up, gesturing at Charlie to do the same.

"The stream goes uphill, and narrows. At the end, we will need to climb." With that, she abruptly took off. Charlie muttered under her breath, still not quite fully human, grabbed her bottle and katana, slung her daypack, and hurried after her.

The stream did grow narrower. The water rushed faster as it narrowed. Granite walls began to rise on either side of the stream, and vegetation pushed up to the water. There were spots where the stream bed deepened and formed swimming holes. Charlie looked at them wistfully. Doli was obviously not used to hiking through underbrush with a companion; she pushed through the twigs and branches, holding them away from herself, and simply let them fall back into place after passing them. After the eighth time those same branches whacked Charlie in the face, she took it to heart and dropped a bit behind. The side of the stream was now strewn with rounded pebbles, rocks, and boulders, and was much more difficult to walk on.

The air was still. The clouds had thinned and the watery sunlight was hotter than yesterday's low cloud cover. There were swarms of midges. And there was a naked man in the water, swimming lazily in the latest swimming spot.

Charlie stopped, surprised. There had been no warning from Doli, who marched on, oblivious. Charlie blinked at the man, who smiled slowly at her, and she called out, uncertainly, "Hey, Doli?" Doli turned, carefully walking backwards, arched her eyebrows in inquiry. Charlie pointed at the man. Doli looked where she was pointing and looked back at her, puzzled. "Um. Man? In the water?" Doli looked again, frowned slightly, and began quickly moving back to her.

"Tell me what you see," she said, voice low and urgent.

The man gestured invitingly, smiling some more. Charlie looked at how cool and pleasant the water looked where he was swimming, and the invitation was overwhelming. So calm. So peaceful. Why shouldn't she take a moment to relax, swim with this nice dude, enjoy splashing in the stream? Doli was saying something, but Charlie ignored it, dropped her daypack and katana, leaned down to undo her shoes, slipped her top off. Doli grabbed her arm.

"I'm just going in for a dip!" Charlie protested, pulling her arm loose. She vaguely noticed that Doli was looking grim. "Aw, c'mon, Doli, relax! Always so serious! Come in with us!" She splashed into the water, being careful not to slip on the algae-covered rocks lining the bottom. She moved further upstream, reveling in the cool, silky feel of the water, feeling it ease off the sweat and grime. It was deeper here, deep enough so she could swim. She pushed off from the bottom, glided through the water toward the man. He was still smiling, still beckoning.

Doli dove into the water beside her, stroking swiftly, her small knife gripped in her hand. Charlie laughed with delight. "See? It's wonderful!" she sang out. Doli flashed a grim look at her, flipped under the water, swam to the other side, began searching underwater for something. The man frowned, and suddenly Charlie realized that whatever Doli was doing was mean, hateful. She cried out, shocked, "Doli! Stop!" and dove under water to chase after her. Doli was swifter, though, and while Charlie was struggling after her, she surfaced, something large and toothy and squirming grasped with one hand. She slammed it against the small cliff on the other side of the swimming hole, raised her knife, and stabbed down.

And suddenly the man was gone, Charlie was treading water with no idea what she was doing there, and Doli was smashing a knife into a huge...lizard-man? Salamander-man? Charlie had no idea, and really wasn't quite sure why she was in the water. She blinked, disoriented, and began slowly stroking her way back to the edge of the stream. When she got there, she heaved herself out, water rushing off her body, and stood waiting for Doli to swim back.

"So...um...what was I doing in the water?" she asked as Doli climbed out beside her.

Doli looked across the swimming hole at the huge lizard-thing floating upside down and limp in the water. She absently dragged her hand across her hair, pushing down with her fist to press the water out.

"You were lured in. By a merman."

Charlie's jaw dropped, and she peered at the scaly corpse. "That thing? That's a mermaid? It looks more like a...a crocodile."

"Merman," Doli corrected. She turned to look at Charlie with serious eyes. "They are usually salt water creatures, but there are the rare freshwater species. If I had been only a bit further ahead of you..." She stopped, shook her head. "Come. And stay close."

Charlie moved downstream to where she had left her pack and clothes, dressed, ignoring the way her T-shirt clung on its way on, grabbed the katana and hefted the pack, then ran back upstream to where Doli was waiting. "So...what? I just sashayed into the water, ignoring you, and - and - like, swam happily to a toothy death?"

Doli's lips twitched. "Essentially. Yes."

"Oh. Damn. I'm sorry!"

"No need. The call is strong. Let's move on." Doli moved forward. This time, Charlie kept close, watching and catching the stray branches that came whipping back at her when Doli let them go.

* * *

When she finished the warding spell, Rowena sat down, pulled out the deck of cards, pushed the second bottle of scotch towards him, and gave him a tiny smile. "Come, now, giant. Let's to drinking again." He slowly pulled the chair back to the table, sat down, and poured himself a drink. He pulled the flask out of his pocket and placed it on the table. He was frowning, perturbed. She had somehow manipulated him into continuing the training. He had been so firm when he walked in with her, determined to get rid of her. And now? Now he was filled with doubt.

They repeated the entire process of the night before. He snuck sips from the flask, drank the scotch, played cards with her, felt the rising flush of extra power singing through his veins. Rowena gaily chattered, dealt cards, took small drinks from her own glass now and then, crowed at her wins with her smile flashing, darted glances at him from under her extravagant eyelashes. Her hands danced, long fingernails tapping the tabletop in thought while scanning her cards. As the high took hold, he felt the reckless need again to toy with the power roaring inside him, let it go swirling across the room, playing with fire, or herding the sparkling electrons in the air together.

Once again, Rowena waited, and then judged him drunk enough. She swept the cards together, tapped them neatly on the table, then stood up and came over to his side of the table.

"Well. Time, I think," she said, hitching a graceful hip onto the table, her deep red gown swirling around her legs. He could smell her faint scent, and was disturbingly aware of how the skirt molded against her legs. "I was thinking, and have decided that earth and water are probably not your forte, Samuel. Oh, you'd be able to char the earth, boil the water, but...eh. Air and fire, I think." She leaned forward, placed a hand on his shoulder, about to say something more.

He snapped. He seized her small wrist in his hand, held it away from him, and said in a hard voice, "Don't." He continued, "Don't. Touch. Me."

She leaned back again, a demure smile flitting across her face. "Oh. Poor, dear Sammy. What are you afraid of - me? You?" She turned away, stood up, moved a short distance away, then turned back, her smile broader. "But I do think 'tis time to have a wee look at what's in your precious 'good luck' flask. What do you think?" She held the flask up, shook it gently. He stiffened; she must have taken it while he was distracted. He growled, surged upwards, reached to twist it from her hand.

She held up her other hand nonchalantly, and he couldn't move. He tried pushing through with his power, but nothing happened, just his head spinning and the power crying for an outlet, any outlet. "Now, then, I'm thinking you think me a fool. Such a sneaky lad, twistin' away and takin' sips when I can't see. So what's so special about this, eh?" She shook the flask another time, then perched on the edge of the table again, twisted off the cap, dipped a dainty finger in. She glanced down at her finger, and her perfectly arched eyebrows rose and her eyes widened at the sight of the deep red staining the tip.

"Och!" she murmured. "Well, well." She touched the fingertip delicately with her tongue, then she smiled at him with a sly, one-sided smile. "Dear, self-righteous Samuel. Drinkin' blood to boost his power. _Pure_ Samuel. _Good_ Samuel." Her voice dripped with scorn, her lips twisting in a sneer. "Sammy the _hero_." She spat the last word out, as if it were a curse. He noticed her Scots accent was stronger. "Dabblin' in the darkest of dark magic." She swayed back to him, ran a hand down his cheek. He shivered, jerked his head away. "So niffy-naffy about the touch of a dark witch, and here's what you've been doin' all along. And you poor boy, it's got your head spinnin' and your heart achin' to be workin' with such power, such wondrous _power_. And y'can't stop it, can you?" she murmured, leaning her head in to his, her soft breath whispering across his cheek. "You try to wait it out, try to keep away from it, but it keeps callin' to you, beggin' you to drink it, feel the power crashin' through you...so y'give in, let it take you...places, let it...sweep you up..."

He closed his eyes tightly, jaw working, head turned away, trying to block the sound of her murmuring voice. His body was wracked with shudders. He wanted to escape. He wanted to use the power building up inside him. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to crush her in his arms, whether to stop her words or to kiss her or to kill her, or all three. He couldn't tell. He was dizzy, and could feel the power flaring wildly through his veins, and he _needed_ to do something with it. He pushed a trickle of it away, out.

A breeze swept across the room. Rowena smiled, and drew her hand down his cheek again, then softly down his chest. She was only inches away from him.

"Stop..." he gasped. The breeze grew stronger, ruffling his long hair, tumbling her curls.

"Oh, boyo. You go playin' with black, blood magic, what d'you expect to happen, eh?"

The candles on the table flickered in the strengthening gusts. Rowena slid her glance that way, and murmured, "But. Yes, you do need to learn to control it. Or it will control you. We definitely don't want that happening!"

He managed to choke out, "Not playing, dammit! Crowley - he tricked me. Had me drink his blood after Lucifer got the addiction started again. I didn't know - had no idea - and then, when I was back, and I thought it was over - he gave me a flask of his blood - "

She backed off a few inches, looking at him with shrewd eyes, her hair blowing wildly around. "So 'tis my son that did this?! Tricksy man, he is. Now why would he be doin' that, I wonder?"

"Revenge," he said loudly, over the gusts moving through the air. She shook her head, her eyes narrowed.

"No, no, that's not it," she shouted back. The candles had blown out, the cards danced through the air, and the door to the tiny washroom was banging open and closed in the swiftly shifting wind. Rowena put her hand to her hair, trying to push it out of her face, then she grabbed his arms. "You must stop this, now!" She looked around the large space, at the cards flying through the air, the door whipping back and forth. A gust from a different direction blew her against him.

He reached out, tried to hold it, but all the turmoil inside him simply seemed to feed the turmoil around them. He would grasp and hold a gust, stilling it, then another gust would build out of nowhere. "Can't!" he shouted. He looked around desperately, trying to calm himself, think it through. If he could let the wind escape, maybe...? He leaned down to yell in Rowena's ear. "The warding - can you drop it so the wind can escape?" She glanced up at him, looked around, frowned, said something he couldn't hear.

She realized it, and pulled down his head to yell back at him, "I need to let go - you need to hold me still!" He nodded, placed hands around her waist, braced them both, huddled his head down. She lifted her arms above her head and started chanting - what, he didn't know, the words whirled away by the wind. She finished, paused, drew a breath, and lowered her arms out by her shoulders, chanting again, drew her arms in, and then pushed her palms down by her sides. He peered at the walls, looking with the other-sight at the blue latticework, and then it was gone.

The windows blew out with a crash and the tinkling of shattering glass.

It was suddenly quiet inside the warehouse, but the freed wind was now howling outside, and they could hear it thumping and banging trash cans and anything not tethered down.

Sam straightened up, looking around. The room was a shambles; broken glass strewed the floor, cards were scattered everywhere, some even wedged in the lighting fixtures, several of which were broken and dangling by bare wires from the ceiling. Rowena's cloak was crumpled in one corner. The table had been blown over and one of the chairs was smashed against a wall. Sam let go of Rowena, righted the table, pulled the surviving chairs back to it. Meanwhile, Rowena was struggling with her hair, which had tangled into knots.

Sam slumped in a chair, his elbows on the table and his hands clutching his hair. His head was still whirling, and he still felt the power curling through his body, but it was much less strong. But what had he unleashed on the town? The gale sounded like it was strengthening.

Rowena pulled another chair out, sat down, and looked at him with a slightly sour expression. He darted a nervous glance at her.

"The problem here," she began, as if nothing had happened, "is that power gotten that way needs controlling. And only those who have been workin' with power a long, long time can do that easily."

He dropped a hand to the table, tracing idle circles with a finger, and concentrated on that. It interacted with the swirling feeling in his head, his focus starting to dip and whirl with the movement of his finger, so he abruptly laid the hand flat. "When you were talking about the feeling..." he started, haltingly. "It sounded like...like you knew what it feels like. Have you - did you - " He stopped. A blast of chilled air whipped in through the broken windows, and he shivered.

"Oh, aye, giant. Been there, done that." The saying was startling, coming from her. Her lips twisted up, and she stared into space reminiscently. "Foolishness. Did it when I was young and ambitious. Now I am old and ambitious, but much wiser! One should only get sucked into drinkin' the blood when there is a particular goal, and it should be a one-off thing, d'y'see? And 'tis very difficult to do that. Takes great will power, strength, discipline. But here you are, tangled up with it, hard. And it's the doin' of my own wee sausage. I do wonder why..." Her voice trailed off thoughtfully.

Sam shrugged. "I don't really _care_ why. I want to kill him even more, for doing this to me," he snarled, baring his teeth.

She shrugged back. "Well, Samuel, there you have a problem. He has this hold on you, for whatever reason. You kill him, you end the supply, you go into withdrawal. He knows that."

"Well, he's keeping his distance, dammit. Drops off a supply here and there, calls to say where it is. He's just yanking my chain. Gets off on it," he added bitterly, glowering at her.

She just looked at him. "He has a reason. We just don't know what it is yet. In the meantime, giant..." She looked around the warehouse. "We need to get windows fixed. And..." She tilted her head, listening. "Your storm seems to be growin' still, but not so fast. We need to be back in our respective beds quickly, or we'll be blown away on the way." She eyed him dubiously. "Can y'get there on your own, or do you need some help?"

He flinched at the thought of her anywhere near his small rented room. He distrusted her, and he was damned if he'd let his admitted sexual attraction to her lead him to be tempted. "No!"

Her lips twitched in amusement. "Och! Such a big giant, to be fearin' such a small thing as me! Not to worry, Samuel, I have other things on my mind now."


	15. Worth Fighting For (Judas Priest)

Dean snarled.

Cas looked across the table at him, a quizzical expression on his face. Dean slid his open laptop over, avoiding the plates and condiments, turned it to face him, tapped the top of the screen.

"He played us. That sleazy, slimy, mother-fucking sonuvabitch Crowley played us. We should have kept going south."

The headline on the Indianapolis Star website read, "Freak Winter Windstorm Slams Marion, Surrounding Areas". Cas frowned, quickly scanned the article, then peered up at Dean from under his eyebrows.

"Sam?" he asked.

"Ya think?" Dean responded sarcastically.

"Why? I can think of no possible reason Crowley would mislead us about this."

"Just general fuckery? Likes to move people around like chess pieces? Bored? I dunno, I don't care. We've lost days. Let's move." Dean stood up, dropped money on the table, grabbed the laptop.

Cas gave him an incredulous look, pointed to the table. "But - but...you're leaving _pie_?!"

Dean glared at the pie, then grabbed the napkin, wrapped the slice in it, and started eating it on the way out.

* * *

Charlie woke abruptly with Doli's hand covering her mouth.

"Shh," the Reaper said in a low mutter. "Wake up. We have...company."

Charlie knuckled her eyes, slowly sat up, peered around in the deep twilight. There were shadowy shapes upstream and downstream from their cramped camping site. Eyes and sharp teeth gleamed at them. Five shadows moved in the thick fog upstream, seven downstream, where there was more room for them. She reached for her katana and stood up beside Doli, head swiveling from one side to the other. She hadn't slept long enough to be nasty; right now, she just felt nervous, cautious.

"What do you want?" Doli called out clearly. The shadows shifted slightly in response. One voice called out, hungrily, "The human!" Charlie swallowed, but another one of the shadows made a slashing, negative motion with its arm, and said, "We want the box. What's in the box. Take us to it, have the human open it, give us what's in there."

Doli frowned. "I cannot do that."

"Then we kill you - whatever you are - and take the human to it ourselves."

The shadow that had spoken first muttered, "And then we get the human. Real blood. Ahhhhh." Charlie heard it - vampire? - smacking its lips, and shuddered.

Doli smiled. "I am harder to kill than you think."

The shadowy forms moved closer.

"Your warding sigils?" Charlie hissed quietly. She could see Doli's figure shake her head.

"They will not hold this many out at once," she whispered back. "Not if they are determined."

"Great," she grumbled. She pulled the katana out of its sheath. Doli pulled her knife out. "Back to back?" Doli nodded. "Who gets which side?"

"I will take downstream." They shifted around, moved their sides near the rock face of the cliff. The clutch of vampires pressed inward, two hissing with pain as they pushed against the warding from downstream. Then a third stepped up to join the two, two more pushed forward from upstream, and the sigils flared bright blue-white, then sputtered and died out.

"Right. Ready?" Doli murmured. Charlie nodded in response, and shouted, _"Laho calad! Drego morn_!", stepping a foot forward, katana slashing out.

The next few minutes were a confused blur. There was slashing and hacking between Charlie and her group of vamps; there was Doli reaching out, seizing arms and pulling vamps to her so she could place a hand to heads and flame them out. Heads rolled into the stream from Charlie's side. Crumpled bodies collected on Doli's side.

The remaining vamps fell back to regroup, muttering to each other. There were six left; Charlie had gotten two of them. The one who spoke second, who seemed to be the group's leader, spoke quietly, and they advanced again.

Another blurred interval. Two more vamps down, one apiece. Charlie's arm was tiring, shaking. She didn't think she'd be able to do much more.

The vampires backed away again, and the leader called out, "Enough! Back!" The group faded away into the almost-darkness.

Charlie flicked blood off the katana and abruptly dropped to sit on the ground, panting. Doli sat down next to her, also breathing heavily. She held a hand to her forehead and made a small noise of pain. Charlie glanced at her.

"Headache?" Doli nodded. Charlie rummaged in her pack, brought out a bottle of ibuprofen and her water, shook out a couple of pills, and handed pills and water to her. Then she leaned wearily against the rock face, flicking cautious glances up and downstream. "What was that about?"

Doli sighed, massaging her forehead some more. "They want the book."

"Okay, yeah, I got that. But - but - _why_?! What good will it do them?"

Doli shrugged. "I do not know. They think it is worth something. That is enough." She stood up. "Gather your things. The twilight is lightening. They will be back. We should move now." She frowned slightly, looking upstream, then shook her head and started walking.

Charlie sighed, yearning for more sleep. But Doli was right; the sky was growing lighter, the vamps would probably be back, and they might as well start upstream now. She pulled a rag from her pack, wiped her katana down, resheathed it, collected her stuff, and started trudging after the Reaper through the morning fog.

At least the underbrush was thinning out. The way was mostly rock now, and only a few very hardy shrubs and plants had found pockets of soil to grow in. No more worries about watching out for branches slashing out at her when Doli released them.

The stream narrowed even further, and the rock faces closed in. The streambed was more like a gash between the walls, and they had to scramble from boulder to boulder in places, twist sideways to slither between the cliff wall and huge rocks in other spots. The way was steeply tilted. Every once in a while, Doli would stop and give the view upstream a frowning glance. Each time, she paused a bit longer, and her frown grew.

Finally, after about an hour of slow movement upstream, they reached a spot where the cliff walls came together in front of them in a small box canyon. The stream tumbled over the end of the box in a waterfall into a rocky pool, spraying the rocks with mist. They stopped.

It was actually beautiful, Charlie thought. It looked like something out of old Japanese paintings, what with the mist and fog, which had not lifted, but just settled in more.

Doli pointed at the waterfall.

"Behind there. There is a ledge we can follow." Her forehead was furrowed and she squinted at the scene thoughtfully.

"Okay. You've been perturbed all this morning, don't think I haven't noticed - it's pretty obvious, you keep stopping and glaring at where we're going. What's up?"

Doli looked back at her, pushing her damp jagged black hair off her face. "I do not know. Something feels...odd. Off. It has bothered me all morning. Come." She started moving carefully along the shelf outcropping surrounding the water hole. Charlie shrugged and followed her.

The ledge was slippery from the mist, and they were thoroughly soaked by the time they reached the edge of the waterfall. Behind the plummeting water was a small cave.

"Oh, of course!" Charlie snorted, amused. "There would be, it's just too darned cliche. Do we need a light? I have a flashlight we can use."

Doli shook her head and held up her hand. It began glowing soft blue-white, illuminating the cave. There was a small old iron box up against the back wall, rusted and lightly covered with a thin layer of lacy, crystallized calcite in spots. Under the rust and tiny crystals, it was engraved with sigils, some of which Charlie recognized. In the center of the side facing them was a clear spot.

Doli grabbed Charlie's wrist and dragged her forward. Her face was grim, and she pushed Charlie down, pressed her palm hard against the open spot. They heard a click, the entire side of the box shifted slightly outward, and Doli snapped, "Help. The hinges are rusted." She wrapped fingers around the top and side, and Charlie reached for the bottom. They pulled, and the side of the box opened slightly, with an appalling shriek of the metal hinges, echoing back and forth in the cave.

"More." They both put more force into it, and the box door popped open suddenly. Charlie was unprepared, and tumbled backward. Then she scooted forward to look in, as Doli was doing.

The soft blue glow from her hand shone into the box, revealing...

...nothing.

The box was empty.

Doli hissed angrily, slammed her palm down on the top of the box.

"So I take it it's not - um - invisible or something like that?" Charlie asked glumly, staring into the box.

"No. It is gone. Someone has taken it." Doli's eyes were dark, her voice grim. She worked her jaw angrily, slapped the top of the box again, and spat out, " _Shit_!"

Charlie blinked, and her eyes widened. The curse was totally unexpected, coming from the Reaper, who had oozed calm and even-temperedness ever since she had summoned her. "Whoa. Tell us how you really feel, why don't you!"

Doli slid furious eyes at her, and took the request literally. "I am angry. I am frustrated. I am the guardian. I am supposedly the only one who knows where the book is. This _should_ not - _can_ not! - have happened. But it has. I have failed in my charge. I am...ashamed. And angry." A tiny smile crept onto her lips. "Have I said I am angry?"

"Why, yes, you have, now that you mention it!" Charlie responded lightly. She scooted back, away from the empty box, and folded her arms on her knees, staring morosely into it.

"This just sucks. So this means that we came all this way, fought all those monsters, dealt with the - ugh! - heat and humidity and bugs for nothing. And now we have to go back, empty-handed. Which those stupid vampires won't know, darn it! - you know they'll be on us like grease on hair when we turn around! And my hope to find a cure for Sam..." She sighed, scrubbed at her face with her hands.

"Yes. All of that."

She bit her lip. "Is there anything that could tell us who got it? And when it happened?"

"It happened recently. Very. My feeling that something was wrong started this morning. There are no clues. It is as if it was there, then it was gone." Doli stood up, looked around. "Nothing. No footprints. The hinges to the door have not been opened in a very long time."

"Great. So what you're saying is that someone _magicked_ the darn thing away, just before we got here." Charlie was getting angry, too.

"Yes."

"Like someone didn't want us - me - to get it."

Doli fastened dark eyes on hers. "Yes. Do you know anyone like that?"

Charlie threw her hands up in frustration. "I haven't got a clue! It's - it's a total mystery! Somebody who knows we were after the book - but that's just Dean and Cas - Dean isn't magic - well, he's kinda magical to me, because he's the brother I never had, but that's different - and Cas would never do that!"

Doli was silent for a while, troubled, then turned back to the ledge and said, "We should go." Charlie scrambled to follow her as the soft light from her hand faded.

* * *

 _~~how's it going?~~_

 _Well. I've found something that should stop a summoning. I think. There's that._

She had found it in VATOCC, the secret occult database in the Vatican. The Vatican's IT security people hadn't found the nondescript login that Charlie had created for her, and hadn't plugged the hole in network security that allowed outsiders who knew it was there to spoof as trusted members of the domain. She did wonder why nuncios and cardinals - and maybe even _il Papa_ himself! - needed to have anti-summoning spells handy. But, then, these occult databases were full of odd and obscure spells, the results of centuries of scholarship. It might have been stored there just on general principles. On the other hand...she was amused at the thought of a demon or two hiding away in the very heart of the most (supposedly) holy host on earth.

The only problem was, the spell she had found was highly targeted. It stopped a summoning from one particular person, which was great if you knew who was likely to be summoning you. But Crowley had a horde of potential and actual enemies, and many he didn't know; he couldn't be doing the one spell for each and every one. She had put together a long list of other contenders for the rulership of Hell, most of whom were just ineffectual wannabes, a few of whom were serious. And then, there was the secret forum she had found for supporters of an unnamed contender. They were...highly organized. She had tried finding out who they were backing, but had had no luck so far. So yet another person to cast the spell on.

She walked over to the French doors and stared sightlessly out into the side garden, picking thoughtfully at her lips.

 _I need to figure out how to modify the spell so it is less specific. As is, it only works against one person at a time._

 _~~yeah, well, I'll leave you to the heavy-duty spellwork, thanks. any word on charlie?~~_

Dani sighed.

 _No. I'm...concerned._

 _~~she's tough. she's smart. she won't do anything stupid.~~_

 _It's not her I'm worried about. It's every other god-damned thing in Purgatory. Place is full of bloodthirsty monsters who haven't had a human to fuck with since Dean Winchester was there. And goodness only knows if the book is there, and if it is, whether it'll help her with Sam Winchester's...problem. And the only thing I've found for her is a couple of spells that do crash detox. I don't think that's what she's looking for._

 _~~calm down.~~_

 _Friends are more damned trouble than they're worth!_

Innie-Me wisely kept silent. Dani frowned out at the bleak landscape, then shrugged. Jemma was due soon for another practice session with her.

As if the thought had conjured her up, Jemma appeared, lounging elegantly on her sofa. Dani clenched her teeth, then mustered up a polite smile. Jemma smiled thinly in return.

"Hello, Dani. Time for our daily dose of..." She yawned and stretched. "Well. 'Boredom' isn't polite. But I really do think it's time for something different than just blasting away at each other. You've gotten quite...adequate...at that."

Adequate. Faint praise. But Dani had to admit that she, too, had gotten tired of the practice, and something new would be more interesting. She narrowed her eyes at her sultry demon tutor, and gave her a single sharp nod. Jemma leaned forward with mingled surprise and anticipation glittering in her eyes.

"Really?" she drawled. "Our little library demon wants to break loose a bit? Now that's a shocker!" Dani clamped down on a snarky reply. Jemma twitched one perfectly styled eyebrow up a bit and gave the tiniest snort of amusement. "Good girl. Close your eyes," she commanded. Dubious, Dani did so. "Now, still yourself, feel what's around you, count to sixty, and then tell me where I am."

"What?"

Jemma was silent. Dani didn't have a clue what she meant. Still herself? Feel what was around her? She started counting, and midway through, she heard faintest of air movements as Jemma disappeared. Okay. So. The other demon was going to reappear someplace. How the hell was she supposed to know where? If she reappeared nearby, in the living room, Dani would just hear her, she supposed. So she probably wouldn't do that. That left the other rooms in the condo. Dani began listing them in her head; kitchen, pantry, entry hall, office, guest room - Dani paused. Something had...felt...different about the office. She reached out mentally, poked at the thought of the office, then shrugged.

"Office?" she called out, and opened her eyes.

Jemma reappeared, giving her a suspicious look. "You could have heard me. Text me this time. I will be somewhere nearby, but not necessarily in your space."

This time, she was in the hallway outside Dani's condo. Then in the bathroom. Then on the sidewalk outside. She had Dani do it a few more times, then said, with a glint of wicked delight, "So now we play hunt-and-ambush, child." She pulled out her phone, pulled up a picture, showed Dani. "This is an empty office building. You hunt for me, I hunt for you. First one to land a blast gets a point. Most points wins."

Dani's jaw dropped. "But - but - I just learned how to - to 'feel' you! I can't - this isn't fair!"

Jemma rolled her eyes, looked at her with disgust. "'Fair'. Honestly. You are such a _baby_ demon." It was not a pet name, not coming from her. Dani infinitely preferred the way Crowley called her that sometimes. Her thought was interrupted by Jemma flapping a lazy hand at her - her comfortable living room vanished, to be replaced with an empty, cold, dim office, lit only by late afternoon sunlight slanting through the windows. Dani turned slowly around, gazing at the blank walls and dusty, bland commercial carpet, mouth open. As she turned back to the window, a blast of power hit her from behind, knocking her to her knees.

"One point for me!" Jemma said slyly. She looked Dani up and down with a slight sneer. "No time for standing around, girl. Think fast. Better get moving; you stay here and I know where you are..." She smiled, a smile full of teeth, and lifted a hand. Dani squawked and flitted.

She was on her knees in another vacant office. She stood up, whirled around - faster this time - scoping out the scene, then stopped and tried locating Jemma by 'feel'. She snapped her eyes open when she realized -

She was tossed back by another blast. Jemma stood in the office with her, giving the collection of chic rings on her hand a bored glance. "Another point for me. This is going to be an easy win - " Dani flitted again. This time, she was reaching out mentally for Jemma's signature as soon as she popped out. She breathed in and flitted again to that location when she caught a whiff. She was in a dark hallway, now, but...Jemma was not there. Dani snarled in frustration. Then Jemma blasted her again.

"I mean, I'm having a grand time beating you...so much fun..." She smiled viciously. "But you're making it way too easy for me."

 _A whiff isn't enough. And I need to be ready to flit again, or blast, as soon as I appear._

It went on and on. Dani managed to catch Jemma two times out of six by the time Jemma raised a lazy hand after another unexpected blast tossed Dani around the freight elevator. "Enough. Back to your place," she commanded, and vanished.

When Dani wearily reappeared at her condo, bruised and frustrated, the other demon was in her kitchen peeling an orange. She glanced up, and said brusquely, "Tomorrow, hide-and-seek around Manhattan. The day after, hunt-and-ambush somewhere else. We will alternate." She finished peeling, pulled the orange in half, and popped a section into her mouth, catching juice dripping out with her tongue. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon." Just like that, she was gone again.

"Dammit, I'm a researcher, not a fighter," Dani grumbled at the empty air, then limped off to her bathroom with the thermos of hangover cure, anticipating a long, hot bath to sooth her sore muscles and bruises.

She really didn't like Jemma.


	16. Riders On The Storm (The Doors)

Crowley stood by his desk, looking down at his chessboard with a small smile. One thumb lightly rubbed his beard; the other hand stroked the wooden cover of the book beside the chessboard. He was lost in thought.

The only warning he had was the slightest movement of air across the back of his neck, and a soft breath. He whirled around, one hand reaching for the angel blade, the other outstretched, ready to block. He grasped the arm moving toward him, yanked, twisted, and slammed the person who had appeared behind him down on the desktop, pulling out the blade. Chess pieces tumbled and scattered, some rolling across the floor. Papers dropped from the hand whose wrist he was crushing. He found himself holding the angel blade threateningly over -

Dani.

He relaxed, and his grim expression shifted into a wicked gleam. "Dani! You've gotten very good at sneaking up on people!"

She grimaced. "Thanks to Jemma, that bitch straight out of Hell."

He fumbled the angel blade back into the jacket sheath one-handed, still holding her down with the other hand. He grinned. "Straight out of Hell. Yes, that describes her. You have no idea, pet, just how appealing you look right now." He waggled an eyebrow suggestively. She snorted.

"I don't _feel_ appealing. I have several pointy things digging into my back."

"I believe those would be chess pieces," he said lightly. "And, perhaps - " He flicked a glance over the desk. " - a paper weight." She glared at him.

"I don't care _what_ they are, I want to get up!"

"Oh, no, no, no. Here, let me help," he smirked. He slid a caressing hand under her, still holding her down with the other, grabbed a chess piece and pulled it out. He glanced at it, placed it carefully back on the board. "The queen. Apropos."

"Look. I swear I am going to kick you in the balls if you don't let me up!" she muttered mutinously. "Legs are working just fine." To demonstrate, she cocked one leg up, aimed and ready. He gave her an exasperated look.

"You're wasting a delightful opportunity here, pet," he pointed out. But he stepped back and pulled her up to a sitting position.

She brushed her back, and muttered, "Ow! Dammit!" as a few more chess pieces fell lightly to the desk. "They were jammed into my back!" she complained. He slid both hands behind her, massaging her back lightly, pulling her closer.

"My poor little demon baby," he murmured. "How can I make it all better?"

She rolled her eyes. "Look. I came with gifts. Where're my papers?" She twisted around to look for them, and pointed. "Your anti-summoning spell. The current list of contenders for the throne. Info on the most organized lot, too, who've got a super secret forum that I managed to worm my way into..."

He straightened, peering at the papers. "Ahhhh..." It was a very satisfied sigh. He grinned at her. "Have I told you recently what a very good decision it was to make a deal with you back a few months ago? Such a clever girl. My head research honcho _par excellence_." He strode around the desk, scooped the papers off the floor, and leaned against it on the other side, hitching a hip up. He started flipping through them.

She twisted around to look over his shoulder, made a slight irritated noise at the state of the papers. She reached around him, pointing at the one on top. "That's the anti-summoning spell. Found it in the Vatican's database. There's a problem, though, it's...um...person-specific." He slid a glance at her, one eyebrow tilted up inquiringly. "Only works on one person; if you've got a bunch of folk after you - " She poked him in the ribs. "Like you - you need to perform the spell one time for each one. And if you don't _know_ someone is after you..." She trailed off. He just smiled slightly, looking down at the spell.

"Oh, this will do, pet. Quite nicely," he murmured. He rolled the collection of papers, thumped it idly on his thigh, and stared thoughtfully into space.

She rested her chin on his shoulder. "What now?"

He turned his head toward her, his lips inches from hers. "Any plans being discussed on this secret forum?"

She gave him a tiny smile. "Whoever it is is gearing up. A meeting. Next week."

"Ahhh." His return smile was feral. "What say I crash their party?"

She pulled back, gave him a concerned look. "There's going to be a lot of people there, I think. All ready to stab you in the back. Are you sure - ?"

"Oh, I have a plan. I'm sure."

She just looked at him, frowning dubiously. "Sometimes your ego is just over the top, y'know?"

"They're good. I'm Crowley," he said, as if it explained everything.

She glared. "And there you go. Top," she gestured up in the air with one hand. "Ego." She held the other hand over the first one. "I would be...very upset...if your stupid egotism ended up with something happening to you." He realized she was being extremely serious, and his face softened. He ran the back of his hand down her cheek and smiled gently.

"Nothing will happen. I promise." His hand moved to her hair, and he tugged at it gently, shaking her head. "Now. Tell me how you got so good at sneaking up on me."

She slumped. "Jemma. Ugh. I _really_ don't like her." She frowned darkly. "After only a few practice runs at locating her by...by 'feel'...the bitch dumped me in an abandoned office building to 'play'" - she mimed air quotes - "something called hunt-and-ambush."

He grinned, eyebrows raised. "Oooh! H and A! I haven't played that in an age!"

She grimaced. "You make it sound like fun. It is _not_ fun. It's a pain in the ass - literally - Jemma took _way_ too much pleasure in jumping me and bashing me with her power. Bitch. But I dI'd get pretty good pretty quickly at the 'feel' thing. So after I spent an hour soaking in a hot bath - and another hour healing bruises and scrapes! - I felt for you. And it was damned easy. You stand out like a bloody beacon. Neon arrows pointing at you, almost, saying, 'Here he is!'"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Don't depend on beacons, Dani-girl. You get that with me because you know me. Very well. Other people will be harder. Don't get cocky, pet." It was easy to fall into lecture mode. He worried. For the first time in centuries he had an Achilles Heel, and her name was Dani. He didn't like it at all.

"Okay, okay. Anyway, that's my report." She leaned back into him.

"All done?" She nodded. He grinned. "We could play H and A...?" She shook her head vehemently. "Oh, it's _quite_ fun, played the right way," he murmured, trailing a light hand around the back of her neck. She shivered. He went on, softly, "Later, then. I'll show you. In the meantime..." He stood up, walked back around the desk. She scooted to sit on the edge, leaning on her hands, craning forward with a playful grin of her own.

"In the meantime...?" He swept chess pieces off the tabletop, grabbed her wrist again, and pushed her back down, hands above her head.

"Like I said, pet, you look amazingly sexy pinned to my desk like this. Gives me all kinds of...feelings." She crooked one leg around behind his, pulling him closer. "Just don't threaten the Crown Jewels any more, eh?"

* * *

The return trip was much quicker. For one thing, they knew the way, knew where scree slopes were, knew where to squeeze between boulders and the rock walls, knew where the thickets of vegetation were passable and where they had to detour. Going downhill helped, too.

In addition, Doli was much more urgent. She marched along with an almost constant frown. The stops to catch their breath were few and over quickly. When "night" fell, and Charlie suggested they stop, Doli looked at her expressionlessly, then laid a quick glowing hand on her arm. Charlie was suddenly infused with a surge of fresh energy.

"Okay, then!" she said breathlessly. "No stopping. Gotcha."

"I must find the book. It went this way." It wasn't much of an explanation, but Charlie really did get it: the book was Doli's charge, she had lost it, she needed to find it again. So they plunged onward, Doli lighting the way with her glowing blue hand, Charlie with her flashlight. It was slower in the glimmering dusk, but much faster than if they had made camp.

Charlie wondered if Doli's fierce concentration somehow emanated a warning field; they encountered no monsters on their way back to her entryway to Purgatory. A sort of "keep away, I am in no mood to deal with your shit" spell. It also saved them time, no stops to fight. She grumbled to herself that it would have been nice to have had that magical effect on the way _to_ the book's hiding place. But the Reaper hadn't felt the need before, obviously. And they had made a pretty good fighting team, all in all.

Too bad the magical effect didn't work on the heat, the humidity, the bugs.

Finally, toward the end of the next day, Doli stopped, looked up and around, and nodded sharply. "My entry is this way," she said, pointing up a steep, scree-laden notch between boulders away from the stream. Charlie squinted at it, then nodded. It looked different going up than it had coming down, but, yes, she recognized the spot where they had headed down to the stream. They made their way slowly up, and then were back in the open forest that had greeted them when they entered Purgatory.

The Reaper made a beeline to one boulder in particular. Charlie was glad she knew which one was it, because the rocks and boulders scattered around pretty much all looked the same to her. Doli slapped her hand in the center of the rock face, and the portal began to grow and glow blue-white. The center of the portal faded from black to a circular view of more gray skies, bare trees, a pathway, snow.

Charlie sighed. Snow. Straight from muggy heat into winter. Bah. Why couldn't it have been one of those beautiful crisp autumn days...?

Her musing was rudely interrupted by the Reaper seizing her arm and pulling her through.

They stumbled on the ground beside the granite rock in Central Park. The sky was a dark iron gray, portending a storm on its way. An icy wind was blowing, and Charlie, shivering, dove behind a smaller rock where she had concealed her winter jacket. She grabbed it and quickly pulled it on, then shrieked softly at how cold it was against her skin. "Oh! My! God! It's going to take forever for this thing to warm up!" Her teeth were chattering. It couldn't be more than 10 degrees, and might even be down to zero.

Doli, who had stood in one spot and slowly scanned around, jerked to awareness at Charlie's yelp. She smiled slightly, placed a gentle hand on Charlie's shoulder, and a soft wave of warmth permeated Charlie and her freezing jacket.

Charlie sighed with relief. "Oh, God, thanks, Doli!" She hunched down so the warmed jacket collar protected her neck from the frigid breeze.

The Reaper was back to scanning their surroundings. She looked like she was listening for something. Finally she said, quietly, "The book is here."

Charlie started, whirled around, looking at everything within sight, path, trees, rocks, snow-covered grass. "Here?! Where?!""

Doli gave her a small, distracted smile. "Not _here_ , here. Here. In the city." She turned away, "listening", and finally pointed at the wall of buildings visible at the edge of the park. "There. It is somewhere over there." Without another word, she started marching in that direction. Charlie stared after her, jaw dropped, then she hurried to catch up.

"So. What? Our magical thief is somewhere in Manhattan? And you're just going to follow the book's trail in - in that direction?" She waved ahead of them. "You do know that there's, like, millions of people in the city? Maybe we could narrow it down, not just march off blindly without a clue? And y'know it's about to snow, like, big time, right?"

Doli stopped, frowned at her. "The book pulls me."

"Yes, but - but - even if you know where it is, you can't just go stomping up to it! There are - are - oh, apartment buildings with - with - buzzers and doormen and ways to keep people out! It's not like Purgatory where you can just head anywhere, if you try breaking into someplace, people will call the police, and there'll be a big fuss, and the person who has the book will be warned, and - " She paused to catch her breath, see if this was making any headway.

Doli stared at her, digesting her arguments, then suddenly relaxed and nodded.

"Very well. What do you suggest?"

Charlie fished in her pocket, pulled out her latest burner phone. "Let me call Dean. He and Cas _must_ have told someone I was going to Purgatory. We find that person, follow the trail...? And besides, I have to let them know I'm alive - they were pretty upset at the idea of me going there, y'know! And I - I want to rest, eat, take - omigod! - a bath!" She groaned in yearning. "The person who has the book doesn't know we're still after it. We can take some time."

Doli nodded again.

The snow began to fall.

* * *

They pulled into Marion late in the afternoon. Heavy, threatening gray clouds blotted out the sky, making the daylight dark and gloomy. The main road into town was sparkling with millions of tiny Christmas lights, which glowed brightly welcoming in the gray light.

"Cheery," Dean said. Cas just grunted, peering up at the clouds.

A Gas-And-Sip beckoned from the side of the road, and Dean pulled the car in slowly.

"Damn. I want Baby back," he muttered. "I don't know this car as well."

Cas turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised. "We can always go back to the cabin in Kentucky, pick her up..." he suggested. Dean glared at him.

"Not now. Later. Just grumbling, that's all." He sighed, checked for his fake FBI badge. "Got yours handy?"

Cas nodded.

Dean opened his door against the chilly wind. Snowflakes were beginning to fall. "Damn. Let's start asking questions, then get ourselves someplace to hole up for the night." He peered up at the looming dark clouds, at the fat snowflakes drifting down. "Before it really starts snowing."

"This is a large storm," Cas said, peering himself. "It stretches all across the northeast. They are saying it will snow a lot."

"'They'? They, who?"

Cas glanced at him, lifted a sardonic eyebrow. "There are apps, you know," he said loftily. "And the National Weather Service is on Twitter." Dean gaped at him. "This storm is the result of a large, slow dip in the jet stream, clashing with warmer, moister air moving up from the Gulf Coast - "

"Dude. I don't need to know the specifics. It's a storm. It's not Sam. Right? Out we go, time to flash badges and ask questions."

He got out, and Cas opened his own door, protesting, "But storms like this are more likely now, due to - "

"Yeah, yeah, global warming," Dean called out against the wind. "I know. It's just - well, now just isn't the time, okay, Cas?"

Cas opened his mouth, closed it, folded his lips. "Global climate change is a very imminent threat, Dean, and the way humans have of just waving it away - "

"Cas. More important things to do right now." The two had moved to the front of the car, and Dean was about to head to the door when Cas suddenly grasped his elbow.

"Dean. Demons." He kept his voice low, and he indicated where with a jerk of his chin. Dean looked around. There were three men standing hunched against the wind and snow, leaning against the wall outside the store near the doors.

"Awesome," Dean sighed. The men had been watching them, and, as if his glance their way were a signal, they pulled away from the wall and started sauntering toward them. "What the hell are demons doing here?!"

Cas murmured, "Given that Crowley misdirected us, it would seem..." He stood straighter, his angel blade snicking softly as he released it from his forearm sheath to fall into his waiting hand. Dean pulled his own from its sheath, whispering, "Mighty damn glad these things are so common these days, Sam still has the demon knife." Cas merely nodded.

The three men spread apart as they moved closer, and flashed beetle black eyes.

"Guys. What _is_ this?" Dean called out, sounding injured.

"There's nothing for you here, Winchester," one called back evenly.

"Oh, yeah? I think you're wrong," he responded, showing his blade. "Just looking for my brother, that's all."

"Dean!" Cas hissed. "More! Behind us."

Dean darted a quick look the other way. There were three more toughs moving forward, also flashing demon eyes.

"Aw, c'mon! Sonovabitch!" he growled at the universe. The demon who had hailed them pointed with his chin behind the car.

"Still more, pretty boy." Dean glanced that way, and saw four more. Ten demons. So far. Damn. "Like I said, nothing for you here. Best just head back the way you came."

Dean glanced at Cas, who shrugged. He started backing toward the car door, motioning Cas to do the same. "Just gimme an idea of what this's all about, dammit!" he yelled. Spokes-demon shrugged, and dusted off snow that was gathering on his shoulders.

"Dunno. We just have orders. You head back out of town, all is cool. You try coming into town, we get you."

"What the ever-loving fuck?! Dude, this is a family thing! I just want to grab my brother and go, y'know? Whatever's going on, I don't want anything to do with it." He was perplexed.

Spokes-demon shrugged again. "Too bad, so sad." He made a "come at us" gesture. "You wanna come into Marion, you come through us."

Dean exchanged glances with Cas. They were at the car doors, he had keys at the ready. He could get in the car, gun it, bowl some of the demons over, but there were obviously more. For some reason, the demons didn't want to let him get to Sam. He and Cas could handle a few at a time, but not ten. Not more. He nodded to the car. Cas nodded in return.

They got in. Dean turned the car on, started the wipers, and started backing up, thinking hard. The ten demons drifted together in the parking lot, watching them, still poised to move if it was needed. He backed all the way out of the Gas-And-Sip and pulled a U-turn, heading back out.

"There was a motel just down the road. We'll stop there." He thumped the steering wheel. "Just why the hell do they want to keep us from Sam?! It makes no sense."

Cas frowned into the twilight, which was getting darker by the moment. The car headlights illuminated the snow, which was falling heavily now. "I do not know," he finally answered. They drove a mile down the road to the motel, the silence broken only by the thump of the windshield wipers.

* * *

Sam decanted blood from the thermos into the flask. The last of it dribbled out, and he frowned down at the thermos, shaking it.

Empty.

He needed more.

He folded his lips, put the thermos down, pulled out his phone. He flipped it over in his hand a few times, gazing grimly at it. Finally, with a growl, he thumbed it on and dialed Crowley. His pusher. Damn!

"What is it now, Moose?" The tone was acid, the voice distracted.

"More. I need more," he gritted out.

The reply was surprising. "I'm busy, cupcake. You'll get some when I'm not as busy. Tough it out for a bit. Oh, and be cautious around my mother, there's a good boy."

The line went dead.

Sam stared at the phone in consternation. He shook the flask. Hardly any there. None left in the thermos. He'd give Crowley a day.


	17. Snow (Red Hot Chili Peppers)

Doli watched expressionlessly as Charlie dialed the last number she had for Dean. Charlie hunched in her jacket, turned her back to the wind so the snow pelted her back, instead of her face, and stuffed her free hand in her jacket pocket, rocking back and forth to keep warm.

No answer. Just voice mail.

Charlie grimaced. "Darn it!" She paused in thought for a moment, squinting into the distance. The snow was falling fast now, big flakes mixed with tiny, icy pellets, and she could barely see the further trees. Nearer ones were just obscured shadows in the graying twilight. "Text!" She pulled up the text screen and started punching in letters, fingers clumsy with the cold. "Darn it, darn it, darn it!" she muttered. "Next time I decide to go questing in winter, remind me to stuff some gloves in my pockets!" she grumbled at Doli. The Reaper's lips twitched with slight amusement; she stepped forward, wrapped her hands around Charlie's, then stepped back. Charlie's hands were abruptly warmer, and her fingers stopped fumbling on the keyboard. She flashed a smile. "Thanks!"

"Dean - Charlie here. Call me." She hit the send button and shoved the phone back in her pocket.

Doli looked at her gravely. "Where to? You said you wanted food, rest, a bath. Do we go back to that place where you summoned me?"

Charlie wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. No. It's probably rented out to someone else by now - I've got a better idea - I've got a friend here, she has extra rooms - I think! - and besides, I've got her looking into some things for me - "

"Where is this place?"

Charlie looked around. The snow hid everything, it was beginning to gather on the grass and pavement, and on their heads and shoulders. She was all turned around and no longer had any idea which direction was which. "I'm - I'm not sure where it is from here! If we were back out of the park, on the streets, I'd be able to point the way - "

Doli made a small noise of exasperation. "May I?" she asked, reaching for Charlie's head.

Charlie jerked her head slightly back, and gave her a disconcerted look. "May you _what_?"

Doli blinked. "Oh. I just - " She shook her head. "My apologies. If you allow me, I can get the location straight from your thoughts."

Charlie's eyes widened, then she grinned. "Whoa. I had kinda forgotten you have extra-special power stuff! Well! That'll save us time! Sure, sure, go ahead - "

But Doli had already laid a hand on her forehead at the first "sure!", and they were out of the cold and snow, and in Dani's bright and airy (and warm) living room. Dani was staring at them from her sofa, jaw dropped.

"Dani!" Charlie felt as surprised as Dani looked. "Hi! Uh - this is Doli, a Reaper - the Reaper the snippets said to ask about the book - " She whirled on Doli and hissed, "Doli! You don't just go _appearing_ in people's houses like this, darn it! It's rude - they might be asleep, or busy, or - or - " Her porcelain skin flushed lightly. " _Doing_ things!"

Doli's eyebrows drew together in a tiny, puzzled frown. "My apologies. Again." She looked at Dani, who had risen from the sofa and was still blinking at them in surprise. Then she looked back at Charlie and said mildly, "Did you know your 'friend' is a demon?"

Charlie waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes, I know!" Doli blinked.

Dani interrupted. "You're back. From Purgatory." She drew a deep breath, flashed beetle black, and advanced on Charlie, reaching out to put her hands on her shoulders and shake her roughly back and forth. "You - you - little idiot! I'm going to _kill_ you!"

Doli's eyes widened in alarm, and she stepped forward, fastened hands like iron on Dani's shoulders, and pushed her away. Then she pushed Charlie back and stood in front of her protectively, arms folded, face grim. "You will not kill her. I will not allow it."

Dani poked the Reaper in the chest angrily. Her eyes were still fully black with anger. " _You!_ You _took_ her there! To fucking Purgatory! What in the ever-loving hells possessed you to _do_ that?! _Look_ at her!" She ground her teeth and waved her hands in frustration. " _Look at her_! She's a bloody _innocent_! She had no fucking _clue_! And you just waltz into Purgatory with her like it's a god-damned Sunday prayer meeting! She could have _died_!" Her voice rose with every word until she was shouting.

Charlie looked offended. "Hey. I'm right here, y'know? And I'm not a civilian, I've been Hunting for two years, I have a katana and know how to use it - "

At the same time, Doli was saying, with a frown, "Charlie is dependable. She is a good fighter. She was safe with me - "

" _Safe_?!" Dani interrupted. " _SAFE_?!" She grabbed at her short hair and growled with wordless frustration, then tried to step forward to Charlie again. Doli moved slightly to block her. She glared at the Reaper and shook her finger at Charlie over her shoulder. "Don't you ever - _ever_! - do that again. I thought you'd _die_ , dammit! I'd have gone with - I'd have helped - but, no, I had to dither around here in the City imagining all sorts of gruesome deaths for you!" Her rant ran down finally, and she dropped to sit on the wooden cocktail table. "It's not like I have a lot of friends, y'know," she grumbled softly. She ran a distracted hand through her hair, leaving bits of it standing straight up.

Charlie peered around Doli's sturdy figure, a grin breaking out. "You were worried!" she crowed happily. "About me!"

" _Yes!_ " Dani snapped. Then she sighed and added, more quietly, "Dammit, yes, I was worried."

"Well. I'm fine, and we're back, and Doli was _awesome_ \- but we didn't get the book after all - " Charlie finally pulled off her jacket, tossed it onto the ottoman, and ran her hands through her damp, dark red hair, flicking drops of melted snow off and away from the others. She plopped down onto the sofa, leaned back, sighed. Dani frowned at her.

"Didn't get the book? So what, it was a wild goose chase?"

Doli had slowly moved to the sofa while she was talking and sat awkwardly beside Charlie. She imitated Charlie's hair-smoothing action. She didn't aim the droplets away, though, and drops of water spattered both Charlie and Dani. "We chased no fowl," she said, puzzled, "But, no, the book was stolen. By magic. Before we got to it."

Dani tilted a surprised eyebrow up. "Stolen? By who?"

"We do not know. It is now here, in the city. Should I be telling her this?" She turned to Charlie, concerned. Charlie nodded.

"Yeah, yeah, it was Dani who told me I needed to talk to you in the first place." Doli blinked, surprised again.

"Here. In the city. Stolen by magic?" Both women nodded in unison.

"Doli can feel it," Charlie chimed in.

The Reaper turned her head slowly around, then pointed at one wall. "That way. It seems...close."

Dani looked in the direction Doli was pointing. She tilted her head down, frowning slightly, picking at her lips in thought. Finally, she closed her eyes for a moment, opened them again, and gave herself a small shake.

"Well. It's snowing like crazy right now, so I guess you two want to stay and hang out here?" Charlie nodded. "I can do some stir fry?" Charlie nodded again, and grinned.

"Bath, too?" she pleaded. "And bed? I'm very tired. And dirty - I have frozen sweat all over me that's busy thawing out and dripping down my stomach and back - it was so nasty hot, and humid, and there were _so_ many bugs!"

* * *

The _need_ was already starting. The craving. It used to take longer. His theory was that his approach of having almost nightly power sessions with Rowena was raising his tolerance level, and thus his addiction was getting worse. And now Crowley was balking. Why now? What the hell was Crowley's game?

He trudged through the blowing snow to the warehouse, head down, forehead furrowed with thought, coming at the problem from all angles. Every so often, tired of the snow pelting his face, he would turn and walk backwards for a few yards. So: Charlie was trying to help him out of this, he knew that. And, knowing Dean and Cas, they'd be tracking him down sooner or later - probably sooner than he expected. And Crowley had the blood hanging over his head, acting like the strings of a puppet; at any time, he could yank him around by threatening to withhold it, like he was doing now. And then there was Rowena...

What it was, he thought, was one big mess. He didn't trust Rowena, but was seeking her help. He didn't trust Crowley - actively hated him - but was stuck needing his blood. He trusted - and loved - Dean, Cas, Charlie, but was isolated from them. At least he knew what he was doing this time. He was much more mature than when Ruby had bamboozled him then betrayed him.

It was full dark by the time he got to the warehouse and ducked in the door, stomping fresh snow off his work boots, shaking it off his hair. He pulled off his jacket and looked around with surprise: He obviously had an amazing landlord, because half the windows were already replaced, the other half had been carefully boarded up, and the dangling light fixtures had been repaired.

And Rowena was already there, standing by the work table, already preparing the warding spell circle.

"You don't need to be here," he sighed. "I'm out of juice, and Crowley isn't delivering today," he added sardonically.

She turned to sweep him from head to toe with a scathing look. "Oh, really. And maybe we just shouldn't be workin' on your control, then?"

He folded his lips, annoyed, then reluctantly moved toward the table, frowning at her.

"The inborn stuff - I don't feel the same urges to...to play with it. So it doesn't _get_ out of control to begin with."

She smirked sweetly. "Och, it's Samuel the expert appearing again! Well, giant, perhaps you _should_ be playin' with the power, then, eh? Because people learn through playin', you know. It's practice of a different kind. And when you're playin' with it...well, things happen. You get creative. You don't need a blood magic power surge for that. And creativity...well. That's when things can get out of hand. So, Mr. Expert," she prodded lightly, "what do you say to that?"

He pulled out a chair and sat down slowly, his eyes on her, thoughtful and suspicious. He had to admit that it made some small sense. Finally he gave her a sharp nod. "Okay then. Point taken. So tell me: you're still..." He paused. "Still...helping me. Why? Don't you have better things to do?"

Her lips twitched upward, and she slanted a glance at him from under her cats-eye makeup. "Why, Samuel! Don't forget you've promised me something," she purred. He just flicked up a lazy, disbelieving eyebrow, and she laughed gently, running her hands down her hips. "Well, then. It's fun, d'you see? Like I told you when you asked, at the beginning, I haven't had an apprentice in a very long time..."

A muscle jumped in his jaw, and he gritted out, "I am _not_ your apprentice."

"Oh, aren't you, then? Goodness me, I must have been mistaken in thinkin' I was, oh, teachin' you the ways of power, how to use it, how to control it!" She pursed her vivid red lips, leaned against the table, folded her arms. "Just what, exactly, do you think an apprentice does, Samuel?" She tilted her head in inquiry, and blinked at him.

He opened his mouth to reply, thought a moment, then shut it with a snap. She smiled graciously. "An apprentice learns. The master - or, in my case, mistress! - teaches. Passes on, oh, tricks and tools of the trade, as it were."

He sprawled down in the chair, pushing his legs out, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets, eyed her narrowly, and said, "Apprenticeship is a long-term arrangement. This is not."

"Is it not?" she murmured. Then she clapped her hands on her thighs and added more loudly, and in a business-like manner, "Time for me to be doing the warding. And then, my serious giant, time for you to tap into your more playful side." She whirled around, started placing candles and lighting them. She continued, dubiously, "That is, if you have one..."

Much to Sam's chagrin, she turned out to be right about playing with the power. She had him work with fire again, and, digging into his creative side, he thought of old cartoons, such as Tom and Jerry, or the Roadrunner. So he took two flames from the candles after she completed the warding, and set one to chasing the other about the large warehouse space, darting around and about the table, the legs of the chairs, the light fixtures. Rowena had been delighted, but scolded him for controlling both the stalker and the prey; she had then captured the two other flames and sent them skittering about the room, daring him to catch them and merge them with his flame. She controlled them with tiny, bird-like flicks of her fingers, her carnelian fingernail polish flickering with her movements. He merged his two flames together, and sent the resulting larger one after hers, his movements feeling clumsy, uncoordinated, compared to hers. But he managed to corner first one flame, then merge it into his, and then cornered the second one.

And that's when the play suddenly turned earnest, because in merging her second flame with his, the flames started pulling in more air, and growing. She hissed at him to use control, focus on the flames, and he had a few very worrying minutes of struggle before she suggested he hold the flames with one part of his power and surround it with some kind of barrier with another part. He flicked a panicked glance at her, then, somehow, while the flames grew, managed to manifest a brilliant blue, wobbly, assymetric bubble of power. It floated in the air like a giant, translucent soap bubble. He shoved the hovering flame into the bubble, then he concentrated on pulling the sides of the bubble inward, further and further. Finally, the bubble collapsed into a point, and both it and the flame were gone.

He hissed in a deep, relieved breath, then blew it out with a huff. His head hurt.

Rowena gave him a slow smile and nodded approval. "There. Y'see? 'Tis easy to lose control, even over something so small and simple. But this time, you were able to contain it. Good lad."

He felt absurdly proud.

They played with the flames a second time, but nothing untoward happened. After, Rowena stood up, dusting her hands off, and proclaimed, "Now then, Samuel. You're lookin' somewhat peaky. Playin' with the power can do that; it just takes a wee bit of practice to stretch yourself, and the headaches lessen. The point being, it's time to call it a night." He nodded wearily. She braced herself, lifted her hands above her head, and began the chant to dismantle the wards. When that was complete, she picked her cloak up, swirled it around herself, and fastened it tight. Sam followed her lead with his own jacket, and they walked to the door, silent and tired.

When Sam opened it, a foot and a half of snow tumbled in across the threshold. He stiffened and peered out into the street. The widely spaced streetlights dimly lit whirling draperies of snow coming down. There were no cars, no pedestrians, and the snow in the street was unplowed. It was quiet enough outside that he could actually hear the snow falling, a light, rapid pattering.

Rowena stood on tiptoe to look over his shoulder.

"Och! My goodness. That is definitely a lot of snow!" she murmured. She stepped back. "Well. I am certainly not bravin' _that_ blizzard!" She held out a leg, pulled her skirts up a bit to demonstrate her pumps. "I wasn't prepared for such a dump!" she added, laughing a bit ruefully.

Sam just stared out the door. He thought he could make it back to his room. It would take a long time, though, and be a miserable trek, short as it normally was. He stepped back himself, and pushed the door closed.

"Damn," he said quietly.

"Well, make the best of it, Samuel! It looks like we're stuck here for a while," Rowena chuckled again, while undoing her cloak and looking around. "How are we set for food? Water? A place to sleep?"

Sam turned around to look at her. "Food..." he said slowly. "Yes, we have some, over in the kitchen area. I put it there in case I got hungry while we worked. Water...plenty of that unless the pipes freeze." Rowena hugged herself and shivered. "And there's a cot, over there." He nodded to the far wall with his chin. "Help yourself." He folded his lips in frustration and headed to the bathroom. "I'm getting some aspirin," he mumbled.

As he was opening the small medicine cabinet above the sink, he heard Rowena call out, "Och! Samuel! This thing is _disgusting_!" He looked at himself in the mirror, rolled his eyes, then leaned his forehead against it in resignation. Now that he had no distractions, the craving for Crowley's blood was back. His skin was beginning to feel like a trail of ants was marching across it. He held his hand out, looked at it. It was already trembling, just barely. His mouth twisted.

Then he drew in a long breath and headed back out, over to the kitchenette. He opened the half-size refrigerator, pulled two TV dinners from the freezer, and stuffed them into the microwave after reading the heating instructions. A soft swish alerted him to Rowena's presence. "Ah, food! Good lad," she said. She craned her head to peer at the empty boxes. "So what do we have, eh? Meat and potatoes, I've no doubt," she sniffed disapprovingly. Sam slid an irritated side glance at her.

"I like vegetables. We have a choice of pasta primavera with chicken, or ginger beef stir-fry with asparagus." He grudgingly added, "Your choice." It was only polite.

She shrugged with a little moue. "Makes little difference to me, Samuel," she sniffed, her head tilted haughtily up. He ground his teeth, pulled the little black dishes out, ripped off the plastic covering, grabbed forks, and carried them swiftly to the table, dropping one in front of each chair. He pulled one of the chairs out, sank into it, and growled, "Eat."

He deliberately stared into space as he shoveled the ginger beef into his mouth, ignoring her as she swayed to the table, daintily sat down, and began to eat, herself.

 _I hope to hell they plow by tomorrow!_

When he was done, he grabbed his empty dish and marched back to the kitchenette to toss it out. He knew he was being churlish, but the _need_ was twisting in his blood, his skin was itching, his hands were unconsciously flexing open and closed. He simply had no attention to spare. He threw the dirty fork in the sink and clutched the edge of the counter, head sinking down, teeth grinding.

He was so preoccupied that when Rowena spoke behind him, he started and whirled around.

"So. Is it bad, Samuel?" Her voice was surprisingly gentle. He jerked his head once in a nod. She looked up at him and sighed. "Well. You can't be practicing any more with the power or your head will be a-poundin' very quickly. You need a distraction."

He laughed bitterly, sweeping a hand out to encompass the large space, empty save for the table - set up for practice - a few scattered chairs, and the "disgusting" cot. "Any ideas?"

She smiled slowly, and stepped forward, sliding a hand up his chest. "As a matter of fact, giant - " she began.

He grabbed her wrists, held her hands away. "No!"

She snorted softly, making no move. "Samuel. Don't go pretendin' to be a delicate maiden here. We are adults. We had fun the other night. There is nothing to do now save wait out the storm. We could, I suppose, play more cards, instead...?" She raised her eyebrows with a look of tolerant amusement. He slowly released his grip on her, lowered his arms, looked down at her expressionlessly. She smiled, and stepped closer, put a hand up to his hair, then pulled his head down to hers. "There. 'Tis not so bad, now, is it?" she murmured, and kissed him. He pulled her against him with hard hands on her hips, and leaned into the kiss, pulse pounding.

The _need_ faded away from his consciousness, as a different need took its place.

* * *

"Three feet?! We're supposed to get _three fucking feet_ of snow?!" Dean glared at the TV weatherman gleefully describing truckers and cross-country travelers stranded in the snow on I-80 and on other highways in the Northeast and New England, flight delays and cancellations, and stores filled with empty shelves. "How long are we going to be stuck here?!" he angrily asked the universe.

Cas looked up from the John McPhee book he was reading. "I don't know. Surely they'll be plowing?"

Dean waved an exasperated hand at the TV. "They've _been_ plowing! And people are _still_ bogging down in the snow! This is insane!" he snarled. He started pacing back and forth in the motel room. Then he came to an abrupt halt, whirled to face Cas, and shook a finger at him. "And we're only _miles_ from Sam!"

Cas tilted his head and grimaced. "Since we do not know exactly _where_ he is, in Marion, that's not exactly helpful," he said with a hint of testiness.

"Dude! Why don't we just...just...what is it, 'translocate'?" Cas nodded. "Translocate into the town and start looking?!"

Cas sighed, stood up, went to the window and opened the drapes. He posed there with studied patience, a hand gesturing at the snowed-in parking lot, with its curtains of snow drifting through the air beneath the lights. "All of the Midwest looks like that, Dean. We can translocate all we want in the town, and it will all look like that. Stores will be closed. There will be no-one to question. We have no way of pinpointing Sam. Searching under these conditions will be futile."

Dean ground his teeth, then strode to the table, grabbed his duffle bag, sat down, and started pulling out guns and knives and cleaning supplies. He glared at the array and gritted out, "This is going to be one mighty damned clean collection of equipment by the time it stops snowing, I can tell you that."

There was no answer: Cas had disappeared.

"What the _hell_?"


	18. Lay It On The Line (Triumph)

It was late. Charlie had dived into the guest bed, muttering, "'Night, bitches," to Dani and Doli, and Dani could hear her snoring softly out in the living room. Doli was sitting placidly on the ottoman, which she had shoved in front of the collection of wildly colorful papier mâché Mexican figurines on the shelves. She was carefully lifting and examining each one, sometimes following the curves with an inquiring finger, sometimes testing a sharp point, then equally carefully replacing it. The Reaper was an odd one, Dani thought, but she had defended Charlie when she thought she was in danger, which made her okay.

 _~~told you charlie'd be okay.~~_

 _Yes, you did. You were right. It was still a very stupid thing for her to do._

 _~~hmmm. so you've got something on your mind.~~_

 _The Reaper said the book was 'in that direction', and 'very close'._

 _~~ah. that direction. close. hmmm.~~_

She stood thoughtfully in front of the French windows, turned to look in the direction Doli had indicated. The window panes were thickly plastered with snow, and what little she could see of the garden through the clear spots, dimly lit by the light streaming out, was covered in fluffy hummocks of white. A chill emanated from the windows. Dani stood there for a while, tapping her teeth with her fingernails, then suddenly came to a decision. She went from window to window, drawing the drapes, and moved around the room dimming the lights. She left the light closest to Doli on, so she could continue examining the figurines.

"I'm going out," she said abruptly. She wasn't sure if the Reaper would care or not, but it seemed polite to inform her.

Doli turned dark eyes toward her, and nodded gravely. Dani stood awkwardly for a moment, waiting for more response; when she didn't get one, she shrugged, and flitted.

Crowley's study was dark and warm. The only light came from a fire in the fireplace. Dani moved to stand behind the desk, sliding a hand across the surface and smiling faintly at the memory. Then she shook herself, and looked over by the chessboard.

There had been a book there, with old wooden covers bound with leather lacings. The flickering firelight revealed it was still there. Dani chewed on her lips, frowning down at the ancient-looking book for a few moments, then reached to switch on the desk lamp, an old green-shaded accounting lamp. It was a dim light, but it illuminated the desk and its contents well enough.

She sat down, pulled the large, wooden-covered book toward her, and opened it. A page of unintelligible symbols and intricate drawings greeted her. She lifted the page, carefully turned it over, and found the next page equally mysterious. Page by page, she slowly went through it. There were, here and there, some symbols she recognized from her years of occult research, but most of the book remained indecipherable. When she was done looking through it, she closed the back cover, turned it back over, and clasped her hands on the front cover, deep in thought.

 _~~so. is this the book charlie went to purgatory to look for?~~_

 _I believe so._

 _~~um. and pb has it. he stole it?~~_

 _I believe so._

 _~~what on earth for?~~_

 _I have no idea._

 _~~he's like shrek, y'know. layers. everything has multiple reasons. manipulative pig bastard.~~_

She sat quietly, absently running fingers along the grain of the wooden cover. It was old enough, and had been handled enough, that the wood was a faded gray and silky smooth.

The door opened, and the light pouring in blinded her momentarily. She didn't bother flitting. She held up a hand to shade her eyes, and as they adjusted, she saw Crowley framed by the doorway. He stood with legs a bit apart, braced, chin up, hands in his trouser pockets jingling keys or coins - she had seen the pose before, and had never figured out what was in his pockets.

"Dani-girl," he said quietly.

"Hey," she responded.

"Very good at sneaking around these days." His voice was even, uninflected. He sauntered forward, and she could see a flicker of crossroads demon red in his eyes. He moved to join her behind the desk, and hitched a hip up onto the desktop, one leg swinging idly.

"I see you've found my little book, pet." His eyes glittered underneath hooded lids and his face held no expression.

"Mmmm. Yes. I take it this is the Book of the Saved? The one Charlie went to Purgatory to find?" She wasn't sure whether to be angry or upset or afraid; she settled for pure curiosity.

"Yes. Quite a pretty thing, don't you think?"

She folded her lips and frowned at him. "Why didn't you just take the page - pages - you wanted, leave the rest?"

"But darling!" he said lightly. "I had no idea what, exactly, is in that thing. A total mystery. So, since I didn't know which part of it she wanted, I had to take the whole book." He shrugged.

"So you knew where it was all along?" She was still trying to figure it out.

"Nope. No idea. I just slid in after the Reaper and Ms. Bradbury, checked in a few times until I could tell where they were going, where it was, and skipped ahead." He frowned down at the book. "It's actually very loud, when you realize where it might be. Kind of gaudy."

She looked at him, eyes wandering around the well-known face, the beard, the sensitive hands, the suit. As always, just being this near him made all her senses stand to alert, and if he made the right move, said the right things, even merely looked at her in a particular way, she knew she would just melt against him, longing for the touch of his hands, his lips, the smell of him, the taste. But this...

"And if I were to, say, take the book, give it to Charlie...?"

His swinging leg stilled, and he looked at her expressionlessly. Rather than answering her question, he said softly, "So, Dani-girl, if it were to come down to a choice - me or Charlie - which would you choose?"

She blinked at him, had to pause to think.

As the pause grew longer, the corner of his mouth twisted up in a sour smile. "I see," he murmured.

"Look. I've never _had_ a friend before!" she protested quickly. "I don't know how it works, dammit!"

He snorted softly, his face suddenly genuinely amused. "What? _I'm_ not your friend?" he asked lightly. She glared back at him, waved a confused, wordless hand, tried to formulate a response.

"You're - you're - well, _you_. You're _there_." He snorted again at her total lack of eloquence, eyes dancing. Dani continued, "I may not know the details here, but I know you have reasons. Which I may agree with. Probably not. But - but - Charlie asked for my help with this demon blood addiction her friend Sam Winchester has, and I - I owe her. Owe _them._ "

His leg was swinging again. She darted a glance at it, and had the irrelevant thought that maybe she could use that as a barometer of his mood. She looked back up at his face. He was giving her a wry smile. "My dear head research honcho, I won't tell you exactly why, but will say that in a few days, I will hand the book over to you to take to her with my blessing. Does that help?" He tilted his head, quirked an eyebrow up.

"Just what is this all about, dammit? It's all very mysterious!" she grumbled.

He grinned. "I'm quite sure that if I said something like, 'Don't worry your pretty little head about it', I'd never hear the end of your complaints." She bared her teeth and growled at him. He raised his eyebrows and pointed at her. "See? In fact, you'd probably just concentrate harder on trying to figure everything out. On this one occasion, pet, I am asking you to stop gnawing away at the puzzle. Just for a few days."

She leaned back in the chair, folded her arms, and stared at him, chewing her lips. "A few days?" she finally asked.

He nodded.

She frowned, then nodded back decisively. "Okay. I'll give you your time. But as soon as it's over, this book goes to Charlie." She paused, then added, "I should warn you, though, that Charlie's odd Reaper - friend? - is homing in on the thing. She feels it, which is why I came to investigate. You might want to...um...make it be...quiet. Or move it. Something."

He glanced at the book and pursed his lips, then shrugged.

"I'll come up with something, pet. Thanks for the heads-up."

She gave the cover of the book a pat, and stood up. "Now," she said softly, moving close to him. "While we were discussing the Charlie-or-you choice..." She reached out to hold his tie, use it to pull him toward her. "I was struck by the realization that you could probably distract me from the book very, very easily," she murmured. He looked up at her with sleepy eyes, a sensual smile on his lips. "Like this," she added huskily, running a gentle finger along his lips. "Or this." She slid a hand through his thinning hair. "Or this." She bent down slightly to breathe against his ear, then ran a delicate tongue round it and nibbled on his earlobe. He stood up, his arms curving around her waist, pulling her close.

"Really? I'll keep that in mind for the next time I want to keep you from nosing into something I'd rather keep to myself." With which, he leaned down and kissed her, ending with a sharp, quick bite to her lips that made her gasp softly and sag against him.

"Asshole," she grumbled lightly. "Use that power wisely."

* * *

It was still snowing. Sam puttered in the kitchenette, making instant oatmeal, turning to glance out the windows occasionally. The light coming in was gray-white, both from the snow swirling in the air and from the fact that most of the industrial windows had clumps of snow spattered against them which the light filtered through.

The night had been a respite from the craving. But it was coming back, singing through his body like a high-pitched keening. He twitched his shoulders, shook out his hands, grabbed the two mugs of oatmeal and spoons and carried them over to the nest they had made of Rowena's cloak.

He sank down on the velvety fabric, put one mug down, and thrust the other at her. "Breakfast," he grunted shortly. She sat up, the cloak covering her slithering down, and reached for the cup with a tiny smile. Her milky white skin seemed to glow in the morning light, her long red curls were tangled and messy, and her cat's-eye makeup was smudged.

"Breakfast in bed. My," she said lightly. She began eating daintily, tongue flicking out now and again to catch small dabs of oatmeal that fell on her lips or chin.

"Don't get used to it." He leaned over, grabbed his jacket, fished in it for his phone. He called up a weather app, skimmed it, and frowned. The hand holding the phone drooped down. He chewed his lips, staring sightlessly out one of the windows. "More snow. All day. Damn." He thumped his thigh with a fist, brooding darkly.

Her hand reached out, covered his on his thigh. It was warm, compared to the chill air, and soft.

"Well, then, why don't we spend the time..." She paused, and he flicked a glance at her. She smiled demurely. "Ach, no, giant! I was thinkin' that we might try, say, summoning my son? That might help with your little problem, eh?"

He stiffened, and stared at her with eyes narrowed in thought. Finally, he murmured, "Why on earth didn't I think of that? I've done it before..."

"Psshhhh." She waved it away with a graceful hand. "You've been busy, and the wantin' is muddling your thoughts." She carefully placed her now-empty mug on the floor, then stood up and stretched luxuriously, tossing her hair back. He watched her, and the memory of his hands wrapped in that mane of hair, the feel of it brushing against his chest, made the heat of desire crowd out the keening need for demon blood, Crowley's blood. He stood up, too, and said softly, "Later." He pulled her against his body, his hands running slowly down the silky skin of her back, and he buried his nose in her neck, breathing in her scent. "Later," he repeated.

"Och, aye, later," she murmured.

* * *

Sam carefully sketched the demon trap while Rowena checked their supplies. He merely nodded when she called out, "I do believe we have everything we need, Samuel." He had to pause now and then, re-do portions, because his hand would suddenly twitch and the line he was drawing would twist awkwardly the wrong way. He would sigh, shake out the hand, erase that portion of the trap, and begin again. It was slower than normal, but not too bad.

Yet.

When he was done, he stood up and looked at the trap in the other-sight. The outer lines glowed a jagged black; the inner lines sparkled with gold and red. It was actually very pretty in the other-sight. He began tracing it mentally, following the inner lines...

A hand settled on his elbow, shook it. He started, came back to reality. "Don't be gettin' lost in the trap, Samuel," she said briskly. "It works for more than demons if you're not careful." She crouched down outside the trap, placed the silver bowl and candles on the much smaller summoning sigils, and stood up again, idly rubbing her hands together. "So. Shall you do it, or shall I?"

Without a word, he pulled out his demon knife, crouched down, and sliced his palm, letting his blood drip into the bowl of herbs. Then he lit a match, tossed it in, and as the mixture flamed blue-white, he chanted, " _Et ad congregandum, eos coram me."_

The blue-white light flames surged up, then silently exploded, blew outward, knocking them both off their feet.

Sam lay on his back, stunned. He blinked up at the dirty acoustic tiling on the ceiling, collecting his thoughts, then shakily pulled himself upright, then to his feet. Rowena was doing the same thing. He stared at her, jaw slightly agape. Then he glanced at the center of the demon trap. No Crowley.

"Um. That was different!" he said, rubbing his elbow, which had taken the brunt of his fall.

She glared at him. "You think?" she snapped, huffily resettling her dress and smoothing her hair.

"That's never happened before..." he said slowly. He frowned down at the now empty silver bowl. "Wrong ingredients?"

"As if! I have been practicin' witchcraft for _hundreds_ of years, boy. I do _not_ get the wrong ingredients!" She sounded personally offended. She tossed her head, snorted, and stalked slowly around the devil's trap, eyeing each line, examining each sigil. He watched her with narrowed eyes. Finally she stopped, threw her hands in the air. "Perfect. Every line, every sigil!"

He folded his arms and lips and frowned at her. "Then what the hell just happened?"

She stood with her fists on her hips, glaring at the devil's trap. "I do not know." She spun around, shook an angry finger at him, and hissed, "My turn!"

She gathered the ingredients again, held a silent, imperious hand out for his knife, performed the ritual. This time, they both sat down on the floor, just in case.

The same thing happened.

When they both had recovered from the blast of power, they sat silently on the floor. Sam alternated between eyeing the devil's trap and Rowena. She just sat there frowning, chewing her lips and making small, frustrated huffing noises. Finally, she clenched her little fists on her knees and screeched softly, "Ooooh! 'Tis as if someone were blocking - " She stopped abruptly. Then she mouthed the word "blocking" a time or two. She twisted to face Sam, shook a finger at him again. "Blocking! That wee sausage of mine is _blocking_ the summoning! I did not think it possible!"

"Crowley," he said, his voice hard, jaw muscles spasming. She nodded at him. " _Crowley_ is blocking our summoning?" She nodded again. There was a strange look on her face, a mixture of sheer fury and a hint of pride.

"Now how did my little bampot come up with this, I wonder?" she mused, absently twisting a lock of her red hair around a finger. "'Tis quite creative!" Her voice was filled with grudging approval.

Sam surged to his feet. "I don't care. He's not giving me any blood, he's blocked my texts - "

"Ooooohhhh, so you've tried textin' him, have you?" she murmured. He nodded shortly.

"And now he's blocking a demon summoning ritual. What the _hell_ is his game?!"

She shrugged, then stood up too, dusting her skirts off. "I have no idea, Samuel. I do not doubt we will find out soon enough."


	19. Crime Of The Century (Supertramp)

The storm was over. The Marion road department had finally managed to plow the streets, and the air was filled with the sound of gleeful children playing in the mounds of snow. Sunlight reflected off all the fresh snow in a blinding display.

Sam didn't see or hear any of it.

They had left the warehouse that morning, he to his small rented room, Rowena off, he assumed, to the most expensive hotel or bed and breakfast in town. Not that it would fulfill her craving for luxurious living, he was sure - a smallish town like Marion, off the main roads, probably couldn't support anything like the five-star hotels she was accustomed to stealing from.

It didn't matter. None of it mattered. What mattered was the twisting, grinding ache in his blood and bones and muscles, the yearning for more of Crowley's blood. His skin was on fire, his hands shaking, sweat seeping down his forehead. When he glanced in the dulled mirror over the sink in his room, he could see the sheen of sweat, the paleness of his skin, and there were growing shadows under his eyes.

Rowena had paused outside the warehouse as they left, peering at him with a hint of concern. "Are y'sure you should be alone, giant? I can see the need growin'." He had waved a wordless hand, deflecting the question. She had nibbled at her lips for a quick moment, said, "There _is_ a spell - "

He had whirled on her, looming, a spark of hope on his face, which died as she shook her head. "Och, no, Samuel, it's not a magic cure. What it is, is unending pain, but it's quicker than detoxing naturally. Kind of - of - compacts all the detox into one hellish burst that only lasts a few days." She regarded him dubiously, watching a shudder ripple over his body. "See, that's the dark blood magic for you. It always has a high price," she said quietly.

Then they had gone their separate ways.

Now he was alone in his tawdry, down-at-the-heels room, with no distractions. He sat hunched over on the edge of his bed, fists twisted in the bed cover, gritting his teeth rhythmically against the quick spasms of pain that rippled through his body.

Damn, it was getting bad.

Through the ringing in his ears, he could suddenly hear his phone warbling. He slitted his eyes open, wincing at the sharp noise. It rang, and rang, then went silent. He squeezed his eyes shut, ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, then sighed and pulled himself up to search for the phone.

When he found it, it was displaying a missed call message. From six-six-six. A spike of rancid hope shot through his body. Crowley! Calling him! He sucked in his breath, staggered back to the bed, half-sat, half-fell onto it, and tried, with fumbling hands, to hit the redial button. "God _damn_ it!" He cursed his useless body, and tried again. This time it worked, and he held the phone up to his head, rocking back and forth.

The hated voice sounded jovial when Crowley answered. "Moose! Darling! You've been - "

He interrupted hoarsely, "I _need_ it. _Now_ , dammit!"

There was a pause. Then Crowley chuckled. "It just makes me tingle all over when you talk rough, pet!"

Sam snarled wordlessly. "Where _are_ you, bastard? Why haven't you given me any? I _need_ it!" he repeated, his voice rising.

"Oh, I've been busy," Crowley responded lightly. "Doing this and that. Re-taking Hell is hellish, y'know."

Sam ground his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut again, drew in a shaky breath. "Save it for someone who cares. Get me some blood. Now." His attempt at a hard voice was ruined by the shakiness that he couldn't control.

"Dear me. Rude!"

The voice over the phone was echoed by a voice in his room. His eyes snapped open, and he saw Crowley standing by the door. He staggered up in a rage, stumbled toward the demon, tripped, and collapsed in a heap on the floor. He clenched his fists, furious that he was so weak, so wracked by the need. It was humiliating. He lifted his head and glared at Crowley, who smirked back with an amused eyebrow tilted up.

"Samantha! I come prepared!" He flourished a highball glass in one hand, his angel blade in the other. He glanced around the room, nose wrinkling in distaste, caught sight of the "guest chair", and sank down in it, crossing his legs. He deposited glass and blade in his lap, shucked his suit jacket, unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt, and rolled up his sleeve. Without a beat, he grabbed the blade, slashed his arm, and dropped the blade on the floor quickly, picking up the highball glass and holding it under the cut. His eyes glittered as he watched the blood gathering in the glass.

Sam watched, too, frozen, entranced by the sight of the blood. He was shamed to realize that his tongue was unconsciously licking his lips; he flushed and forced himself to stop watching. His hands were trembling, not with the detox shakes this time, but with eagerness.

Crowley was watching him, he realized. His eyes were hooded, there was a tiny smile on his face, and his head was tilted with interest. He glanced back down at the glass, pursed his lips, murmured, "Just a bit more, I think." He finally moved the hand holding the glass, shifted it to his other hand, lightly traced the slash with a finger. The skin healed behind it. Then he lifted the glass, eyed it in the dim light, looking satisfied. "Yes. Well. Here you go, pet." He leaned forward, offering the glass to Sam with a toothy smile.

Sam grabbed it, lifted it to his lips, closed his eyes, slammed it back. He swallowed large gulps, once, twice, three times, then tilted his head back and expelled his breath with a long, "Ahhhhh."

He hated himself for that, but had no time to wallow in shame. The effect was rapid: the red pain in his blood and bones was replaced with the burn of raw power surging through him like a tidal wave. It flashed down his arteries, flamed through his nerves, down his legs, his arms, coiling around his heart and groin. He dimly realized that he was moaning softly.

He had actually forgotten what it was like when he drank so much so fast. He had gotten used to the slow infusion of power when he sipped it surreptitiously during his sessions with Rowena. This - this was agony. And ecstasy. His head was spinning. He opened his eyes again, and the other-sight flamed. All around him, the electric wiring sparkled and fizzed, and when he tilted his head back, looked up at the ceiling, he could see, behind the golden wiring embedded in it, and in the floors above it, the sizzle of energy in the atmosphere, the waves and ripples of the Van Allen Belt. It overwhelmed him.

"Moose?" It was a soft question. "Moose?" He turned his head to look at Crowley. He was a body engulfed in oily dark burgundy, with a webwork of fiery red embedded in the smokiness, carnelian sparks flashing here and there. Sam's eyes drifted to follow one thread of the red, which led his eyes to the edges of the smoke, which were entangled in all directions with pure black tendrils filtering in from elsewhere. He snickered and pointed. "Dani," he said wisely.

"Dani?" He focused back on Crowley's face, which was frowning. He giggled. "Oh, you're allll wrapped up in her! Bet 'f'I'saw her, she'd be allll wrapped up in red tendrils, too."

"Ah. No doubt." Crowley's voice was warm and amused, and a soft smile flashed across his face. Then his eyes narrowed at Sam, and he made a small gesture. Sam was busy looking around at the flashes of energy, trying to decide if he could capture them. He frowned ponderously.

"Prob'ly shouldn't," he mumbled.

"Eh?"

"Shouldn't play with electrons. Rowena says. Bad idea. Started that lightning storm, y'know."

"Oh, yes, I know," Crowley purred.

Sam smiled brightly. "Gonna try it anyway, though!" he sang out. He reached out - or tried to, anyway. He couldn't. Snakes of dark burgundy had wrapped around his arms and legs while he wasn't paying attention, held him firmly in place, and somehow they constricted his ability to reach with the power as well. He frowned again. "Hunh! 'S'odd!" He blinked owlishly at the demon. "You've got me tied up. W'power."

Crowley smiled tightly. "Indeed I do, Moose." He was crouching down in front of Sam now. Sam hadn't noticed him move.

"Why'd'you do that?" he asked muzzily.

"Oh, just need to borrow something for a bit, pet," Crowley responded lightly. He reached out, ran a hand through Sam's hair. Sam jerked his head back.

"Y'did that before," he mumbled. "When was stuck in m'own head. Didn' like it then. Don' like it now. Wan'y'to stop, dammit."

"Sorry. No can do." Crowley leaned forward, ran his thumb slowly down Sam's jawline, then suddenly placed strong hands on either side of his head, pulled it toward himself, and planted his lips on Sam's.

Sam drew in a deep breath, and abruptly Crowley's tongue invaded his mouth, probing. He shivered in muddled anger and distaste, tried to pull back. Crowley's hands held him in place, though. And then...

Then the pain began.

Red hot. Blades of agony slashing through him. Worse than anything he had felt outside of the Cage. He tried to scream, but the sound was muffled by Crowley's lips.

The raw power that he had been glorying in moments before was now pouring out in a channel, a flood. Everywhere it was drawn from was left feeling flayed, exposed, excruciatingly sensitive. The blades sliced down his veins and arteries, cut along his nerves, and his body stiffened, the muffled scream growing, the other-sight dimming.

It kept going for what seemed an endless time, until his body slumped, unconscious, held up only by Crowley's hold.

* * *

When he was done, when he had sucked all the wild power out, Crowley released Sam's lips and let his hands guide his unconscious body down to lie on the floor. He leaned back, hands dangling between his knees, and stared down at Sam's body expressionlessly for a few moments, then pursed his lips. He reached down, gave him a light, rough pat on the cheek, smoothed the long, sweaty hair back from his face. "Sorry, Moose," he said softly. "But needs must, blah, blah, blah."

He planted his hands on his knees and levered himself up to a standing position. He poked and prodded internally at the stolen power, gauging it, testing to see how well it meshed with his own. Then, with a tight grin, he swooped down to gather up his angel blade and suit jacket, pulled the jacket on, re-sheathed the blade. He took one last look at Sam, frowned, snapped his fingers. A pillow appeared under the young man's head. Satisfied, Crowley flitted.

He had a destination in mind, of course.


	20. Victorious (Panic! At The Disco)

The large conference room was filled with people. Men, women, old, young, black, white, Asian, Hispanic, an array of humanity. They eyed each other cautiously, clumped together in small groups or stood alone by the sides of the rooms. A few wandered from group to group, testing the waters. There was a low murmur of quiet chatter. Everyone was on edge, waiting.

Then a tall, slender woman with dusky skin, vivid lipstick, sultry makeup, skintight black dress, a waterfall of carefully casual ebony curls cascading down, walked into the room from a side door and strode to the speaker's podium. The chatter died down, eyes turned to watch her, a few satisfied smiles broke out. She stood there, swept the room with a glance, waited for the murmuring to die down.

When it was totally quiet, she smiled, a slow, wide smile, folded her hands on the podium, and said, "It's good to see you all. It's time." A burst of talking interrupted her. She waited for it to die down again. "We all know why we're here. I pulled you together because you are the best that are left, that aren't aligned with Crowley." She waited for the hisses and scattered "Boo!"s to stop. "None of us want a loose cannon like him leading us. He's unpredictable, careless - he unleashed Leviathan - he's constantly playing with Angels and allying with the Winchesters - " Another wave of angry hissing broke out. She added, with a scornful laugh, "He's been chained by our Dark Lord Lucifer as a mere errand boy! He's fallen into human blood addiction! He vanished from the throne, only to turn up again with Dean Winchester as an uncontrollable proto-Knight of Hell!" She slammed an angry fist against the top of the podium. "He - "

She was interrupted by the double doors at the back of the room slamming open with a startling bang. Everyone swiveled to look.

Framed in the doorway was a short, sturdy man with black hair and beard, dressed in an impeccable black suit, standing with legs slightly apart, hands in trouser pockets.

"Hello, darlings!" he caroled.

* * *

Crowley stood there for a beat, waiting for his presence to sink in. He adored dramatic entrances like this. That moment when whoever he was acting against realized that, oh, no! all the scheming and hiding and secrecy had been useless, and he, Crowley, had the upper hand.

Though this lot didn't fully comprehend that last bit. Yet.

"Jemma! Kitten! You're throwing a party!" he sang out, sauntering in. "But - but - Darling, you forgot to invite me! I'm hurt! Devastated!"

Jemma glared at him from behind the podium. The demons gathered to hear her exhortations to the troops shifted and milled around, drifting back to let him through, then closing in tightly behind him. Every demon there had flashed slickly shiny black eyes as soon as they saw him. He heard the soft snicks of angel blades being unsheathed all around the room. The damned things were a bloody nuisance. The moronic angel wars had left the planet littered with them, and any demon with half a brain had immediately jumped on any unclaimed angel blade they could find.

He bared his teeth in a dangerous grin, cuddling his stolen power close. He could, of course, have simply blasted them all from the start. But where was the fun in that? One had to seize entertainment wherever it was offered, and this little scene was immensely entertaining.

He strolled up to the podium, leaned nonchalantly against the side, crossed his legs at the ankle, looked at her.

"Now, pet, what's all this?"

She snarled. He grinned. She pointed at him, grinding out, "How - _How_ did you know?"

He shrugged, dusted some nonexistent fluff from the arm of his suit. "Oh, I have resources."

Jemma sneered. "That little idiot baby demon of yours, I suppose!" she spat.

He glanced back up at her with a satisfied smirk. He was having so much fun. "Now, now, pet. If she were an idiot, do you think I'd be here? You've been a bad, _bad_ girl, Jemma," he crooned. He turned his back on her, as if she were beneath notice, and looked out over the crowd, which was pushing in, crowded together, leaving a small circle of space before him. "Sweethearts! I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding! You've been led astray by Jemma's sultry good looks, I'm sure." He smiled sweetly. "Any of you who would like to reconsider...?" The question was met by a low growl that swept across the crowd.

He shrugged again. "Well, can't say I didn't try, cupcakes." He carefully unleashed a bit of the wild power he had stolen from Sam Winchester. Just enough to see, so that the smarter ones might rethink their position.

There were a few widened eyes here and there, but no-one moved to join him. Another shrug, and he released the power entirely, sent it washing across the room.

Heads glowed and sputtered and bodies dropped in swathes. He heard Jemma gasp behind him, and smiled tightly. As the last one dropped, he turned around to look at her.

"Jemma. Darling. I do believe you've lost your little army of supporters. Pity."

She snarled again, made a small gesture, and he held up a hand to block her buffet of power, which felt remarkably small now. He smiled, waved a dismissive hand, and her head, too, glowed bright pink, and the sizzling sound of demon death coming from where she stood was sweet, sweet music to his ears.

He turned back to survey the room full of dead bodies, smirked, and murmured, "I do love it when a plan comes together!" Then he vanished.

* * *

Dean was wakened by the feel of something abruptly landing on his bed. He kept his eyes closed, his body relaxed, imitating continued sleep, while quietly sliding his hand beneath his pillow for his gun. When he had the grip in his hand, he stealthily pulled it out. Then, without warning, he sat straight up, sheet and blankets tumbling down, gun aimed at the foot of his bed, ready to pull the trigger.

There was an adolescent fox curled up on top of the blankets. It was covered with blood, one ear was torn, and its tail curled around to cover its muzzle. One beady black eye opened wearily, peered at him, then closed again. The tip of its fluffy tail flipped up once in recognition that he was there.

"Grass?!" The tip of the tail twitched again, as if to say, "Yeah, yeah, it's me."

Dean scooted forward, frowning as he took in the damage. "Hey, Grass, buddy, you okay?" If Grass in the Wind was here, that meant -

He looked wildly around. "Cas?! Cas, goddamit, where _are_ you?!"

He heard sounds from the bathroom, and looked that way in time to see Cas poke his head out through the door, face and hair wet, holding a towel.

He looked amazingly good. Dean drew in a sharp breath, then closed his eyes and buried the thought, as always, and reopened them.

"Dean." Cas smiled. It was like a blast of sunshine. But the towel was bloody, there were bleeding marks on Cas's face -

"What the hell happened to you two?! Why'd you disappear like that?!" He shook an angry, worried finger at the angel. "Dude, it's rude to disappear without a word! Grass is bleeding! His ear's all mangled! _You're_ bleeding! Now, tell me what the _hell_ happened!" His voice rose to an almost-shout at the end.

Cas sighed, stepped out of the bathroom, toweling his hair dry, and sat at the table in the kitchenette. "Wolves."

"Wolves?!"

Cas dropped the towel into his lap. He was shirtless, and Dean clenched his teeth, struggled to focus elsewhere, his stomach tight. "There was a pack of wolves in the storm. They attacked Grass's den. His mother and brother are dead. He escaped. I went to his den as soon as I heard him calling. He wasn't there. I had to track him. And the wolves." His voice was grim, his eyes distant. "He was barely alive when I found him, so I had to take time to heal him. Which he wouldn't allow!" Cas folded his lips and glared at the fox on Dean's bed. Grass slid an eye open, and his untorn ear twitched. "Some foolishness about needing to show that he was tough. I do not understand, but he was adamant about it."

"Shade," Dean nodded wisely. "So he can cast shade on any fox or other creature that tries to diss him."

Cas blinked, shook his head uncomprehendingly, and frowned. "So I had to keep him alive and warm, heal the interior wounds at least - which he deigned to let me do!" He glared at Grass again. "Then the wolves came back and I had to fight them without killing them. When it was all over, I wasn't quite sure where we were, so had to wait until it was light to get my bearings to translocate."

Dean leaned forward, forearms on his crossed legs. The light coming in the motel window was glaringly bright, so he assumed the storm had stopped. And, now that he paid attention, he could hear plows in the distance. That meant...

"Okay then, buddy, finish cleaning up, get a goddamned shirt on, and let's go into town to find Sam. It's been long enough."

Cas looked at him quizzically, shrugged, and stood up to head back to the bathroom. "I'll need one of your shirts. Mine is sliced through."

"You're sure you're okay?" Dean called after him. Cas poked his head back out, gave him a silent thumbs up.

"Damned idiot angel!" Dean grumbled softly at Grass. The furry tail flipped at him again, and he grunted back at the fox. Then he slid out of bed, searched out a clean shirt for Cas, and thrust it into the bathroom with one arm, carefully looking the other way. Cas took it with a mumbled "Thank you", and Dean said, "Heal yourself, you nitwit!"

"All right! Stop nagging!" Cas called back. Dean strode around the room collecting things and stuffing them into his duffle bag, and by the time Cas came back out, he was pacing the room, ready to go.

* * *

Charlie had come snarling out of the guest bedroom, made a beeline for the kitchen and coffee, and glared at Dani when she followed her in. Dani grinned, shrugged, and edged around her to get to the refrigerator, then busied herself making bacon and eggs. Doli silently moved to stand at the living room side of the kitchen island, gravely watching them both, jagged short black hair dried into a messy riot of strings.

It was silent while she made the food, broken only by the sound of the bacon sizzling and the spatula stirring the eggs.

Charlie heaved a long, satisfied sigh when she finished the coffee. Then, with an astonishing change of mood, she said gaily, "Doli! Your hair! Omigod! You need to brush it - hold on a sec, I've got a brush in my backpack - back in a flash!" She darted out of the kitchen.

"Back to normal," Dani murmured at the eggs with a smile.

"She is quite ferocious after a full night's sleep," Doli commented mildly.

Dani turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. "I'd never encountered grumpy Charlie before. It's...quite different!"

Doli gave her a small smile.

Charlie came bustling back in, handed a brush to Doli. Doli took it, held it, and looked down at it with a puzzled expression.

"Tch! You use it to brush your hair - here, I'll show you - " Charlie grabbed it back, advanced on the Reaper, and began brushing her hair briskly, muttering when the brush caught in tangles. Doli stared at Dani in mild panic, her body stiff, head tilting this way and that as Charlie attacked.

"Is this necessary?" she asked tightly.

"Hold your head still, darn it!" Charlie grumbled.

Dani grinned at the Reaper. "She seems to think so."

Doli frowned. "I do not understand," she complained softly. Still, she held her head steady against the tug of the brush.

"You look like a mess!" Charlie snapped. "It's - it's beneath your dignity!"

Dani shrugged at the Reaper, spread her hands helplessly. Then she turned back to the food, quickly finishing the eggs, setting the bacon to drain. She pulled out plates and forks, grabbed shredded cheese from the refrigerator, and served, sliding the filled plates onto the island. Charlie had finished brushing Doli's hair, and stood in front of her, hand under her chin, angling her head back and forth to judge her work.

"It'll do," she finally said grudgingly, then sank down onto one of the stools and attacked her plate.

Dani ate her bacon slowly, savoring each bite. She let Innie-Me surface to get the full effect of the hickory smoked goodness. Innie-Me ate her slice with moans of pleasure, and Charlie and Doli eyed her nervously.

"Innie-Me," Dani explained when she resurfaced. "She gets...um...into her food."

Charlie waved her fork. "Hi, Danielle!" she sang out. Doli just looked bemused at the byplay.

There was a soft thump in the living room. The Reaper stiffened and whirled around, eyes narrowed, head tilted as if she were listening to something. Then she strode without a word to the coffee table, bent down, picked something up, and returned, frowning, a large, wooden-bound book in her hands. She placed it carefully between the plates on the island, stroked it gently.

Charlie looked at it wide-eyed. "Is that - is that - "

Doli nodded. "It is the book. Whoever stole it has returned it. I do not know why."

Dani looked at the book, too, chewing her lips. This meant that whatever Crowley had been up to was finished, done. She hoped he was safe. Though, thinking on it, surely he wouldn't have been able to return the book if things had gone wrong...

 _This...this...'love' thing is extremely uncomfortable._

 _~~bahahaha!~~_

 _It makes me worry! I get a strange feeling in my stomach when he's up to something and I'm not there to - to help, to fight anyone who is trying to hurt him!_

 _~~bahahaha!~~_

 _Oh, stop it. You're not being helpful. I don't like feeling like this._

 _~~suck it up, buttercup. get used to it. that's what happens, though most of us manage to fall in love with someone who doesn't play around with dangerous stuff.~~_

 _Humph._

She returned her attention to the outside world. Charlie had pried the book away from Doli, and was gently flipping through the ancient pages, frowning thoughtfully. "I recognize a lot of the symbols," she said. "There's a lot in common with the Book of the Damned, which is darned interesting, since it was two different nuns, in totally different convents, _thousands_ of miles apart!" Doli watched anxiously, hands unconsciously reaching for the book, then drawing back when she seemed to realize what she was doing. Charlie nodded sharply. "Yes. I think my BOtD translation software will work with this." She laid the book down carefully, slid off her stool, and darted away, saying, "I'll just take pics with my tablet - "

* * *

They spent the day canvassing convenience stores. Finally, as it was growing dark again, they found one where someone recognized Sam's picture. The cashier chatted with them happily, glad to help, and with the info from her they found themselves standing before a run-down, three-story building. The buzzer buttons were an array from shiny and brand new, to old, corroded, and falling out. Some of the labels were neat and tidy, most just scrawled names. Dean located the one labeled "Manager" and buzzed it.

The manager, scruffy and sporting two- or three-day old stubble on his chin, was alarmed at being confronted by two FBI agents, eager to help. Oh, yeah, he knew that guy. Huge! He'd known there was something shady about him - ! He handed them the master key, gave them the room number, and darted back inside his apartment, happy to remain uninvolved.

Dean stood there looking down at the key, turning it over and over in his hand. Cas waited. Finally, he shrugged, looked up, and said, "Okay then. This is it. Let's go." He was nervous, on edge. How would Sam react to them showing up like this? Would he...would he let the fight go? Let them help? He bit his lip angrily, and strode to the shabby stairway, Cas following silently. When they got to the apartment number the manager had given them, Dean stopped in front of the door, hesitating. He felt Cas's reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Dean. It'll be all right. Sam will understand."

He drew in a breath, braced himself, stuck the key in the lock, and opened the door wide.

Sam was lying on the floor, looking like absolute shit, eyes closed, body limp.

And his head was in Rowena's lap, her long red curls tumbling down around his pale face.

"What the _fuck_?!" Dean snapped, striding into the room.

Rowena looked up. She sneered out, "Hero," like an epithet.

* * *

Sam was surfacing. Slowly. His body ached, everywhere. His head was pounding from the kind of headache he used to get when he first started trying to pull demons out, with Ruby. He felt around mentally, felt his normal level of power, but not a trace of the wild flood that filled him when he slugged down the glass of Crowley's blood.

Crowley!

He stiffened. Crowley had done...something to him. He had a vague memory of the demon's lips forcing his open. He shuddered. And then...searing, horrible pain. Sheer torture. And his power sliding away like water going down a drain.

He heard voices. Rowena, sounding snappish. Dean, sounding furious. Dean?

"Dean?" he croaked through dry lips. It was barely audible. He tried again. "Dean?"

Hands lifted him up, away from the soft, warm pillow he had been lying on. He reached blindly, his own hands fastening on thick, muscular arms. A hand was patting his cheek roughly, a voice calling, "Sam?! _Sammy!_ "

He pried his dry, gummy eyes open, peered at the face close to his. Dean. Cas, behind him, looking concerned.

He patted the arms he was holding. "Dean."

The hands holding him shook him gently. "Sam! Sammy! Are you okay, dammit?!" Dean's voice was panicky.

"Be fine. Soon. Just feel like I was hit by a Mack truck," he mumbled.

Dean's head turned away. "If you've hurt him, you _fucking bitch - "_ Now his voice was angry, threatening.

"Oh, stow it, Winchester!" Rowena's voice. Snapping angrily. His lips twitched in a faint smile. "He was like this when I got here, found him!"

He plucked at Dean's arms weakly, trying to get his attention. "Not her. Dean. Not Rowena. Crowley." Then it was too much, the small burst of energy had sapped him, and he slid thankfully back into unconsciousness.


	21. Hurt (Johnny Cash)

"Crowley?" Dean repeated, confused, holding Sam's limp body.

"Crowley." Cas murmured, frowning.

"My wee sausage did this to the giant?!" Rowena also frowned.

Dean glared at her, pulling Sam tight against him. "What the hell are you doing here...witch?" He really wanted to call her bitch. But "witch" would do.

"Takin' better care of your brother than you, that's for certain!" she said tartly, tossing her head haughtily.

Dean gritted his teeth. "Oh, yeah. That's why I find him looking like death warmed over. Your 'care'."

She flared angry nostrils at him. "Oh, and I suppose your gentle love is why he ran to me for trainin', then!"

He wanted to beat the smugness off her face. He settled for baring his teeth in a silent snarl. He laid Sammy back down on the floor, smoothing his hair back, leaned back on his heels. He caught sight of a pillow on the floor, leaned over, grabbed it, and stuffed it under Sam's head. What the hell had happened to him?

"What happened?" He glared at Rowena, sure that, no matter what Sam had said, Rowena had a hand in it.

She frowned down at Sam. She started to say something, paused, bit her lip. She actually looked concerned, Dean noted. Finally, she said slowly, "I am not quite sure. Just days ago, my son had blocked us from summoning him. I still dinna know how!" She sounded frustrated. Dean raised skeptical eyebrows.

"So, what...you just wanted a happy little family chat?" he asked sardonically.

She glared at him, folding her lips tightly. "Och, no, y'bloody bampot! He had cut Samuel off, no more blood, and the giant was sufferin' - "

Dean held up a hand, shook his head, confused. "Wait a minute. No more blood? There were fifty kazillion demons swarming this town. They kicked us out, just before the storm hit. It would be like a damned breakfast buffet for the kid, demons everywhere."

Rowena rolled her eyes, got up, perched on the edge of the bed. "Blithering idiot!" she snapped. Then she sighed, looking at Sam with sad eyes. "Och. He probably didn't have a chance to tell you, what with y'kickin' him out and all - "

"'Kicking him out' - ?!" He drew in an angry breath. "Dammit, you skanky bitch, he _stormed_ out - "

"Oh, yes, after a knock-down fight with you, mister bleedin' hero!" she snarled. "Pickin' on your younger brother like a bully!"

He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head sharply in disbelief. "Woman, he's twice my goddamned size!" Well. Not really. Just huge, that was all.

Rowena tossed her head again, sniffed scornfully. "You and your saintly, righteous prejudice" - she rolled the "r" grandly - "against folk with the power! It's no wonder he skedaddled as fast as he could! Throwin' a fit, just because he was caught up in a nasty scheme from both Lucifer - that angelic toddler! - and my son - "

He interrupted again. "Yes. Your son. You said he 'cut Sam off'. Explain." He narrowed his eyes at her.

" _Will y'STOP INTERRUPTIN'?!"_ she screeched with frustration. He drew his head back, held up placating hands, kept silent, except for a murmured, "Whoa!" He was sure that if looks could kill, her glare would have murdered him ten times over. She was huffing with anger, and regarded him with tightly folded lips for a few moments, waiting for him to start talking again. When he stayed quiet, she finally snapped, "Thank you! _As_ I was sayin'..." She stopped and eyed him suspiciously again. He kept his mouth shut. She continued, "...my son cut him off." Dean opened his mouth, and she held up a graceful, commanding hand. He shut it again, fuming. "Because 'twas my son's own blood, d'you see. Not blood from any old demon. His own." Dean frowned. "And, apparently, Fergus's blood is something special these days, God knows why," she added acidly. Then she shrugged, made a small grimace. "Och. 'Tis probably because he was the King of Hell, and is still the King of the Crossroads. It affected Samuel that much more. And was harder to control. So after he started the lightning storm..." She shrugged again. "He needed help learnin' to control it. So he came to me."

Cas, who had been standing quietly watching and listening, murmured thoughtfully, "That would be why he misdirected us. And why the demons - "

"Why the demons kept us away from Marion. Yes. Because he told them to," Dean said slowly, nodding his head. "So Crowley's blood is like 100 proof alcohol to Sam." Rowena nodded. He realized, with a sinking feeling, that he had allowed himself to forget that Crowley's main - often _only_ \- concern was Crowley's own welfare. That the Crowley he had come to...almost like...was not a friend, was, at _best_ , a frenemy. That the charm and snark and suit covered a devious, manipulative demon who worked on so many multiple levels that it could be mind-boggling.

"Why?" he croaked. They looked at him. He cleared his throat, clarified, "Why would Crowley want Sam in - under his thumb like that? And what the _hell_ is wrong with Sam, anyway?!"

As if his name were a signal, Sam stirred and murmured. They all turned their heads to look at him. He stirred again, stretched, sat up woozily. He was immediately surrounded by three worried faces, all talking at once.

* * *

Later, after the chatter, after the hugs from Dean and Cas, after the stumbling, stuttering apology for flaming out at him from Dean, after dinner at the local Biggerson's, and drinks, as they were all leaving to let him rest some more, he grabbed Rowena's elbow, held her back. Dean had grumbled at his insistence on keeping the small rented room, rather than joining him in the motel, but had accepted the lame reasons Sam gave him with grace, and he and Cas had just left, disappearing down the hallway.

"I need to talk with you," he said. He still felt exhausted, and the need was starting up again, dammit.

Rowena turned to him with eyebrows up. "Aye? What is it, giant?"

"Crowley."

She grimaced. "Oh." She sounded ever so slightly disappointed. He frowned at her.

"He stole my power," he said bluntly. He hadn't said a word about that to Dean and Cas, had let them believe his condition was a side-effect from the addiction and Crowley cutting him off.

Her eyes widened. She mouthed "stole your power" as if it were in another language, then abruptly seized his hand, dragged him further into the room, kicking the door closed behind herself with a dainty foot. She thrust him down to sit on the bed, and stood before him, frowning.

"It sounded like you said 'he stole my power'," she said incredulously.

"I did."

She sank slowly down onto the bed beside him, staring into space, thinking. Then she turned to him and asked, almost angrily, "How in the world could he do that?! 'Tis impossible!"

"We thought it was impossible to block a summoning," he pointed out dryly. She opened her mouth, paused, then nodded wordlessly.

Sam's mouth twisted. "He - he kissed me - " He flushed angrily, drew a long breath, continued, " - and then he - " He waved a wordless hand in frustration, trying to come up with words to describe it. "Pulled. He pulled it out. It was like he...hooked into it, somehow, and yanked, and it went out. Out of me. Into him." He clenched his fists on his thighs, remembering the act, the pain, the theft. "It hurt," he said baldly. "Very...very badly."

She stared blindly at him. "Soooo. Och, he _is_ gettin' very creative all of a sudden." She waved a hand at Sam's angry movement. "Yes, yes, 'tis horrible, of course. But, still. Very creative. Interesting."

He hissed out an angry breath, seized her bird-like wrist, dug his fingers in. "I don't _care_ if it's 'interesting'. I am never - do you hear me? - _never_ going to let something like that happen again."

She huffed. "Och, aye, Samuel, I do understand that. But what exactly d'you expect from me?"

He glared at her through narrowed eyes. "He...held me down. Held my power down. With something like - like tendrils of his own power. How do I do that?"

She pursed her lips, thought a few moments. "That I do know how to do, and can teach you - "

"Good." His voice was hard. "You mentioned a spell to make the detox from demon blood go quicker."

She nodded.

"I want you to cast that spell on me. And when it's done, when I'm free of his damned hold on me..." He paused. She tilted an inquiring eyebrow up. He ground out, "Then I'm going find a way to kill him."

She smiled widely. "Ahhhh. That makes me very happy, Samuel!" she sang out.

"I'm not doing it for you," he muttered, very low. His eyes were grim, darkly shadowed. "I'm doing it for me. I don't care any more that he's...'useful'." He spat out the last word.

"No, of course not," Rowena said softly. She ran her free hand down his cheek. "He hurt you. You need revenge. And I can - and will - help." He caught her hand, brought it to his lips, kissed it. Then he dug his hands into her luxurious hair, pulled her toward him, kissed her on the lips. He twisted around, pushed her down on the bed beneath him, and tried to cleanse the memory of Crowley's lips on his, raping away his power, by focusing on her.

* * *

When Charlie was done taking careful pictures of each page of the book, Doli almost snatched it back. She held it cradled in her arms, and said, "Now I return it to where it belongs."

Charlie frowned. "You're not going alone!" she protested.

Doli looked at her gravely. "I can go much faster by myself."

"Besides, someone already knows where its hiding place is! Maybe you should find another!" She was determined.

The Reaper folded her lips, slightly exasperated. "I will surround it with warding to protect it from theft."

Charlie shook a finger at her. "Well, in my _not_ so humble opinion, you should do both! Put it someplace else than behind that waterfall! Anyone who's read any fantasy, or played any D&D - watched any swashbucklers! - will be looking for places like that, right away! The dude who stole the book - or girl - whatever! - isn't going to be the only one!"

Doli was getting truculent, looking like she was ready to dig her heels in. "There has been only one attempt in nearly a thousand years - "

Charlie raised her voice. "Yes, well, the Hunter community knows about it now - and the demons, because Dani! Trust me, I know - there will be more people looking for it now, darn it!" She paused, waved her hands, pushed her short red hair back behind her ears, tried to sound more authoritative. "I can help. We can find a new spot. We'll move the box - you can surround it with those warding sigils of yours - it'll be safe again!"

Doli glared at her, then looked to Dani, who had been watching with amusement, for help. Dani shrugged. "Don't look at me. For what it's worth, Charlie is right about word leaking out. Oh, not right away. But sometime, soon-ish, one of us will let it slip, and the person or people who hear will let it slip..." She shrugged again.

The Reaper stood silent and abnormally still for a full few minutes. Charlie kept quiet. Dani watched, still amused. Finally:

"Very well. I will take you with me. We will find a new hiding place." She reached out, grasped Charlie's shoulder, and they abruptly disappeared.

"Well!" Dani raised her eyebrows, gave the empty air an amused grimace, and plopped down on her sofa.

 _Fun while it lasted, but there were too many people here. And where's Crowley?_

 _~~guests are like fish. longer than a day or two and they begin to stink. and i have no idea where pb is.~~_

Dani snorted.

 _And Charlie is off to Purgatory again. Somehow, having gotten to know that odd Reaper, and knowing they did okay before, I'm not as worried this time._

 _~~good girl.~~_

 _Don't be condescending._

Innie-Me projected an image of herself sticking out her tongue. Dani snorted again.

She stood up again, walked to the kitchen island and stared at the dirty dishes with a sour face. Then she sighed, moved forward, began collecting them and heaving them in the sink.

 _Wash them by hand? Use my power? Throw them out and just get new ones?_

 _~~la-di-da! toss 'em out?! sheesh.~~_

 _You can't tell me that every person confronted with an unusual amount of dirty dishes doesn't have that same exact thought._

 _~~weeeellll...~~_

Dani grinned. Then she felt the soft rush of air, the tiny puffing sound that heralded his appearance behind her. She whirled around, breath catching.

He grinned, held up a bottle and two glasses. "Champagne, pet! We're celebrating! The return of the King!"

"It worked?"

"Every tiny bit, Dani-girl! Like clockwork. But, of course, I knew it would." He was practically radiating sizzling good cheer, vibrating with it. He dropped the glasses on the counter, expertly popped open the bottle, and poured. He handed her a glass, lifted his own, and clinked it against hers. "My ideas, your research, my execution. We make a good team, darling." He pulled her close with his free arm. "I assume you got the book...I waited until your guests left to come here," he murmured against her hair.

"We got the book. Charlie has translation software. She'll work on it when she gets back."

He drew his head back, peered at her. "Back? From where?"

She sighed, leaned her forehead against his shoulder. "Purgatory. Again. She and her pet Reaper. They're changing the hiding place."

He shrugged. "I don't need it any more."

She stiffened, ever so slightly. "So. You _were_ trying to keep that Winchester guy's blood addiction going."

He nuzzled her neck. "Eh. All done now, pet. Can we stop talking about irrelevancies now?"

She held still for a moment more, then relaxed into him. "Okay," she murmured, sliding her arms around his neck. "Congratulations," she smiled up at him. "Once and future King of Hell. Just don't think I'll be moving to that nasty warehouse-turned-medieval-castle you had going," she teased. He shuddered.

"Never. The worst idea of my life. Drafty. Uncomfortable. Ugly as sin." He pulled her closer, leaned down to kiss her. Then he murmured against her lips, "You'll be happy to know you won't have to deal with Jemma any more."

She huffed out a small laugh. "Thank the dark lord. Hated her."

"With good reason. Turns out she was the leader of that secret cabal you found."

She jerked her head back, surprised. " _Really_?! Hunh. I'm amazed she had enough brains - "

He laid a finger across her lips, silencing her. "Shhhh. No more irrelevancies, remember?" He snapped his fingers, and they were in her bedroom. "We celebrate."

* * *

When Sam shared his plan to have Rowena cast the detox acceleration spell on him, he wasn't prepared for the explosion.

"You _what_?!" Dean shouted. "You're going to trust that skanky, evil witch to do _what_?! The one who tried to kill me, and only couldn't because of the fucking Mark?! Sonovabitch. No. No and no and _NO!_ "

"Dean, goddammit!" Sam shouted back. "I need to stop this!"

Rowena, sitting by the table in the warehouse space, peered under her eyebrows at the two of them arguing, and rolled her eyes.

"Fine. Dandy. We'll stop it. Somewhere else, away from that bitch!" Dean waved an arm to indicate anywhere in the rest of the world.

"She's helped me cope with it, Dean! She's been training me - " Sam moved closer to his brother, trying to get through.

"Oh, yeah. Training you." Dean sneered. "Training you to use that damned power shit - "

"You're doing it again, dammit," Sam said hoarsely. He shook his finger in Dean's face. "Talking down something that is part of me, almost damned in-born - "

Dean batted Sam's hand away. "It was never - _never_ \- 'in-born', you idiot! It was - was a toxic, evil, vile 'gift' from the fucking demon that _killed_ Mom, _killed_ Dad - remember that?!"

Sam jerked back, stiffened, face pale and stricken. Rowena judged it time to intervene. She stood up, moved to them, grabbed Sam by the arm, pulled him back. Apparently, Cas had had the same impulse: he held Dean in a similar grip, also pulling him back, saying, in a low, urgent voice, "Dean. Stop this. You two are repeating what got us to this point in the first place. Stop."

Dean yanked his arm away violently. "Get off me, Cas. Time someone knocked some fucking common sense into him - "

Sam jerked angrily out of Rowena's grasp at that, strode back, and the two were in each other's faces again.

Rowena growled, concentrated, raised her arms, and commanded, "STOP. Both of you." It was accompanied by a blast of power that froze the two where they stood. "Samuel: _control_!" He flicked his eyes at her, frowned, then drew in a deep breath and tried to relax himself. "And you, Winchester - stop blathering on about _where_ his power came from! It doesna matter now, and hasn't for years, 'tis there, and the boy must learn to use it, or it will use him." Cas eyed her grimly, then nodded reluctant agreement.

Dean stood tensely, angry, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He was breathing hard, and his jaw muscle was twitching. He realized, intellectually, that what the bitch was saying was correct, but he knew the problem was that having anyone he loved use power made his skin crawl. It wasn't rational, no. But it seemed to be ingrained, hard-wired, so much so that here he was, just about to whale on Sammy again for the same thing he had apologized for so wholeheartedly just a day ago. And, dammit, him _trusting_ Rowena to do this spell, watch over him while he struggled through drying out -

He worked his jaw, narrowed his eyes, and spat out, "Fine. I don't have to like it, though." He spun around, muttered, "Y'do what you have to, Sammy," and strode to the warehouse door, yanked it open and stormed out.

* * *

Sam stared after Dean, heart hurting. They were right back where they'd been weeks ago: he had power, Dean hated that. Not him, no, Sam knew that. But the mental block he had about power, the irrational prejudice - it was still there, still going strong. He sighed.

Cas was beside him, he realized suddenly. He laid a warm hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezed, said, "I'll try to calm him down. He loves you, Sam. Never doubt it."

Sam nodded wordlessly, a lump in his throat. He gave Cas a shaky grin. "Y'know, six years ago, you wouldn't have even _comprehended_ what you just said, let alone _said_ it."

Cas smiled ruefully back at him, squeezed his shoulder again. "Even angels change." He turned his attention to Rowena. "I may not like you, may not agree with your plans and schemes, but in this instance, I believe you are right. Sam needs to be free of his addiction, and having a person with power help him through drying out...well. It can only help. And he does need training." He nodded politely to her.

She gave him a coy smile. "Well! Aren't you the gentleman, now!"

He nodded again, and walked to the door. He looked back at Sam a last time, smiled gently, before he walked through.

Sam and Rowena stood silently for a while. Then Rowena said quietly, "This will hurt, y'know. Like what Fergus did."

He nodded absently, still staring at the warehouse door, face long and sad.

"But it will be over with fairly soon." She looked around the large warehouse space. "Warding. Yes. A spell to hold sound in, I believe. The walls are sturdy, should withstand any flingin' of you the wild power does." She thought some more. "A book for me to read! And food. Have you replenished the pantry, giant?"

He turned to look at her, brushed hair off his face, nodded again.

"Well, then. Shall we begin?"


	22. Disappear (REM)

It was as bad as Rowena had said it would be.

Hallucinations. Jess, standing and looking at him with disgust, spilling a hateful flood that detailed how evil he was, how useless, how she was glad she had died pinned to the ceiling above him. Dad, shaking his head, eyes filled with sorrow, asking him how he could let him down like this, how he could not only accept the demon-born power, but revel in it. Dean, sitting on the cot, thoughtfully pointing out that since Sam had turned to Rowena, had become a monster, he had no choice but to kill him. Then pulling out Sam's demon blade and slamming it into his chest, shrugging as if the Sam he loved had vanished years ago, and now killing him was just another job to be done without emotion or remorse. Crowley, holding him down and ripping power out of him.

And, of course, visions of being in the Cage.

Pain. Hidden dregs of the wild power from Crowley's blood oozed away, hooking into every crevice of his body and pulling, tearing at his flesh as it trickled out. The plain, blunt physical pain when the power, unchecked, threw him against every wall, over and over again. The red-hot poker of a power headache stabbing through his skull.

Hunger. Thirst.

And behind it all, the growing, raging _need_ , that left him panting, begging, crying for more of the blood, more of the wildly sweet power that it brought with it.

But, at some point, the balance shifted. The hallucinations faded. The pain ebbed to just an ache that permeated his body, and the headache turned to a mere mild throbbing. Best of all, the need seeped away, and he woke up one morning without an itch, no shakes, no desire for the blood at all.

He was sprawled on the cot, eyes gummy, mouth dry, totally mentally and physically exhausted. He stared at the dirty tiles on the ceiling above him. He felt...clean inside. Empty. He prodded at the feeling, as if it were a missing tooth. Then he shut his eyes, drew a deep, shuddering breath, bracing himself. He opened his eyes and shifted to the other-sight.

It was still there. He relaxed, body sinking against the lumpy mattress. He hadn't admitted it even to himself, but had been afraid all his natural power would be gone. It wasn't.

That settled, he slowly pulled himself up to a sitting position. He felt bruises and slightly pulled muscles stretching as he sat up. He drew his breath in in a quick, quiet hiss of pain. He slid long legs off the cot, leaned wearily on his fists for a moment. Then he scrubbed his face with a palm, feeling stubble and the sticky residue of sweat. A hand through his hair found it damp, matted, stringy. He gave a soft laugh; he must look like shit. And he probably smelled worse.

"You're up." Rowena's voice. He turned to look where it had come from. She was sitting in a nearby chair, legs elegantly crossed, long dress draping fluidly, sipping at some tea. She eyed him narrowly. "And are y'back in the land of the livin' now?"

He ran his hand through his hair again, rubbed the back of his neck, nodded. "I think - " He paused, cleared his throat, amazed at how creaky he sounded. "Yeah. I think so."

"Good. Your brother - " Her nostrils flared with anger. "He has been comin' round, over and over, worryin' about you. Pestering me. Is he okay? What's going on? How long is this going to take? Bah. Here. Call him." She tossed his phone. He caught it absently, looked down at it, sighed. "Yes, you _must_ call him. Don't dilly-dally, just get it over with. I'm bloody tired of the man."

He sighed again, scrolled to Dean's entry, punched the listing. He held the phone to his ear, listening to the ring.

"Sam?!"

"Yeah. It's me," he croaked.

"Stay right where you are!"

The line went dead. Sam dropped his hand, stared dully at the phone. He didn't have the energy to be startled when Dean and Cas suddenly appeared. Dean headed immediately to him, squatted down by him where he sat hunched over on the cot, grabbed his shoulders with firm, strong hands. The concerned hazel eyes swept over him, taking in everything. Dean closed his eyes for a moment and seemed to sag with relief.

"Dude. You look like hell."

Sam croaked a laugh. "Feel like it, too. Like _two_ Mack trucks ran over me."

Cas smiled at him over Dean's shoulder. "Sam." That was all he said, but the tone, and the expression in his sapphire eyes, said much more.

Dean dropped one hand by his side, shook his shoulder gently with the other. "Sam. Sorry. Sorry I went off on you again like that. Just - just - " He shrugged. "Sorry." The hand twitched, clasped deeper. Sam nodded, accepting. He pretended that he didn't feel the tear trickling down his cheek. Dean nodded back, clapped him on the shoulder, and stood up. He ignored the tear, too.

"You need a shower." He turned to Cas, started to say something.

"What he _needs_ \- " Rowena interrupted sharply, " - is rest. Showers can wait." Dean looked at her narrowly, jaw working, then nodded abruptly.

"Okay. Yeah. I can see it." He paused, then said stiffly, as if the words were being dragged out, "Thank you. You did take care of him. This worked...much more quickly."

She sniffed, tilted her head up haughtily. "Just a witch takin' care of another witch in trouble." She slid sly eyes to him to see how he'd take it. He glared, folded his lips tight, but said nothing. She flipped up surprised eyebrows, but wisely didn't push further.

"He's okay now, right? No more..." he trailed off.

"Och, aye. No more blood lust," she answered crisply.

"So we can take him back - to my motel, to his room - " He turned to Sam. "Sammy, where do you want to go?"

Sam closed his eyes wearily, slumped down a bit more. The question was just too hard. He waved a weak hand. "Either. Doesn't matter." All he wanted, frankly, was to lie back down, sleep for a century.

"Tch. Look at him. Just let him go back to sleep here, don't be botherin' him with going somewhere else for a while," Rowena snapped. He cracked his eyes open. Dean was rocking on his feet, chewing his lips. He flicked a questioning glance at Cas, who shrugged.

"Okay then, we'll leave him here. But he'd damn well better be better the next time we see him!" he growled.

"Just don't be pesterin' him. Let him rest. And stop botherin' _me_ with all your questions! I'll make sure he calls when he's more..." She waved her slender hands aimlessly. "Alive?" Sam snorted softly, then coughed. Then, ignoring them all, he slid back down on the cot, curled up, and fell back to sleep. A healing sleep, this time.

* * *

When he woke again, the room was dark, lit only by streetlights shining in through the warehouse windows. He sat up, amazed by the returned feeling of natural health, energy. And he was hungry. Starving, in fact. He stretched, then winced, having forgotten about the bruises and pulled muscles. He stood up, padded to the kitchenette in his bare feet, rolling first one shoulder, then the other, ignoring the pain, as he walked. When he got there, he opened the small refrigerator, absently flexing his hands and rolling his wrists as he peered in. He pulled out a stack of frozen dinners from the freezer, shuffled through them, selected one. After he popped it in the microwave, he clasped his hands behind his back, stretched backwards for a long, satisfying while.

"Giant," came the soft greeting. He whirled around, startled. Rowena was a shadow in the dim light behind him.

"Rowena," he answered neutrally.

She moved forward, and he could make out her features better as she neared.

"While you eat, shall we discuss my son, and what y'plan to do?"

The microwave beeped. He turned to it, pulled out the dish, ripped off the plastic cover. "I _plan_ to kill him," he said firmly. He grabbed a fork from the drawer, stirred the food, and began eating.

She leaned back against the refrigerator, arms folded. "All well and good, Samuel," she said tartly. "But to kill him, y'need to catch him."

He smiled grimly into the darkness. The light from a car's headlights angled through first one, then another window, then faded away. "Oh, that's easy enough," he said lightly. He could just barely see her expression of surprise.

"Oh, really. Care to share how?"

Rather than answer her question, he asked one of his own. "Nothing demonic can escape a devil's trap. Can anything - like power - get in?" She thought, then shook her head.

"No."

He ate a few more bites silently. Then: "So if someone, some demon, was looking for another in particular, and that demon was in a devil's trap...?"

"The first demon wouldn't be able to find or reach the second, no. What are y'gettin' at here?"

 _He's riding high, lured into following the red webbing inside the deep burgundy cloud shadowing Crowley. He sees the edge of the cloud. Tendrils of deep velvet black infiltrate the edge, on every side - top, bottom, front, back. He giggles and points. "Dani," he says, proud of his observation...Crowley smiles, a strangely warm smile._

He turned to her. "Dani. We take Dani, and Crowley is ours."

"Who, pray tell, is Dani?" she asked, skeptical.

"His girlfriend. More. Trust me."

She snickered. "What?! My son? Sucked in by a woman? Psshhhh. I don't believe it. He has as little of a heart as I do."

Sam just looked out at the darkness with narrowed eyes, ignored her. "He's re-taking Hell, so probably has lots of enemies working against him right now. He won't know who took her. We make preparations. Then we let him find out - somehow - where she is. I hold him down with my power, stick my demon knife in." The muscles around his nose twitched in rage. The thought of finally - _finally_ \- stopping that slimy bastard for good...

"Och, giant, your wee demon knife won't work," she sniffed. "Fine for common demons, not for a king."

He rolled his eyes. "Sometimes your obsession with royalty makes me laugh. Sometimes."

"What, you're thinkin' I'm joking here?" She was offended, and he could dimly see her fine nose tilting upward. "You accepted that his very own blood was stronger. Surely you've had experiences with higher demons before? Did your wee knife work on them?"

He started to snort a reply, then stopped. Azazel. Alastair - the knife had hurt him, but nothing more. Lilith. Crowley wasn't in their league - or was he? He chewed his lips thoughtfully. The Colt - no. It was buried deep beneath the rubble of the Men of Letters bunker. He rubbed the back of his neck, blew out a deep breath.

"Might I suggest an angel blade? Surely you can lay your hands on one. Or, better, one of my own hex bags. Or both."

He looked at her. The light of another car driving past swept through the darkness, lighting her face harshly, making her long hair glow silver-gray for a moment, then passed on. He said, slowly, thoughtfully, "Angel blades. They're everywhere since the angel wars. Yes, I can get my hands on one, I'm sure of it."

She sauntered toward him, laid a hand flat against his chest. "So when do we start this grand plan?" He covered it with one of his, looked down at her shadowy form expressionlessly.

"Why not now?" he said, simply.

* * *

"Morons! Idiots and morons! I'm surrounded by them!" Crowley stood at the entrance to her living room, hands in trouser pockets, bouncing on the balls of his feet, lips tight, face puffing with rage.

She craned her head over the back of the sofa, grinned at him. "And how was your day at the office, dear?" she said sweetly. He glared at her, jaw working.

"Don't you start with me, too! I need scotch." He stalked into her kitchen. " _Oceans_ of scotch!" he shouted. "All the scotch in the world! Just to deal with these frigging useless pieces of demonhood!"

She moved to the kitchen, leaned against the kitchen island, elbows on the top, hands cupping her chin. She was still grinning. "That bad?"

"Awful. Dreadful. 'But, Sire!' this, 'Surely, Sire...' that, 'We can't, Sire!' the other. Bloody brainless minions are _WORTHLESS_!" he roared, pouring himself a glass. He turned, held up the bottle, cocked an inquiring eyebrow at her. She nodded. He turned back, grabbed another glass, filled it, and carried both glasses, and the bottle, to the island. He lifted his glass to her, then knocked it back in one long swallow. He thumped it back down on the top of the island, filled it again, then blew out a deep breath. He seemed to deflate as he relaxed. He grinned back at her, pointed a finger. "You. You are a breath of sanity and intelligence in a crazy world, Dani-girl."

"I aim to please." She pointed back at him. "I seem to remember someone complaining to me, months ago, how awful it was to have been king. Don't weep in your scotch at me, you knew exactly what you were getting into. I have zero sympathy."

"And that, pet, is another reason I like you. No bowing and scraping." He reached across the island to slide a warm hand down her cheek. She turned her head into it, gave his palm a quick lick. He drew in his breath. "It doesn't hurt that I find you amazingly sexy, too," he murmured. He moved around the island toward her.

With a flash of mischief in her eyes, she backed away from him. He stopped, tilted his head up, looked at her from beneath drooping eyelids, gave her a slight smile, and advanced again. She kept moving backwards, until she was backed against the wall. He moved close, leaned one hand on the wall beside her head, and traced her lips with a slow finger, smiling lazily. She was breathing swiftly, her skin tingling, lips parting. He stepped closer, slid his hand down her body, then around her waist, pulling her against him. "Amazingly," he breathed, leaning down to kiss her.

As she tilted her head up to his kiss, the glasses on the kitchen island started to shake. Then the bookshelves. Crowley froze, frowning. The whole room was shaking. "Someone is summoning you?" she gasped, looking wildly around the room. He looked grimly down at her.

"No. Someone is summoning _you_ ," he said flatly. His hands bit into her shoulders in a futile attempt to stop it, hold her there.

The room vanished.

* * *

It was dark. The place she was in seemed large, just from the ambient sound. In front of her, just on the edge of the devil's trap, was the bowl of spell ingredients, still smoldering. It provided dim light near her; there was other dim light coming in through some big, industrial windows.

 _~~this is bad, dani.~~_

 _No shit. Tell me something I don't know._

She tried flitting, knowing it wouldn't work. Still, she had to try. She braced against the vertigo that resulted and swore softly. Then she gathered her power, threw it out in a large circle, hoping it would escape the trap, damage whoever had summoned her. It didn't. Instead, it bounced back, and she had to scramble to deflect it, again and again, as it ricocheted around the trap. Luckily, the energy died down quickly.

She gritted her teeth. What use was all that ridiculous power-as-a-weapon training she had had to endure? She couldn't do a damned thing stuck here.

She turned slowly around, looking in all directions, peering in the dim light. Wall with windows. Check. Wall adjacent to that. Check. Back wall, with two shadows. She paused, then continued her survey. Side wall. Check. Wall with windows again.

She turned back to the wall with the two shadows before it, then sank down to a sitting position, letting her eyes adjust to the light as much as they could.

"Who are you?" Her voice echoed in the large room. "What do you want?" She tried very, very hard to keep her voice level and light, not to show how afraid and worried she was. Because she knew, without doubt, that they didn't want _her_. Oh, no. They wanted _him._

"Are you sure this is her?" Dani hid her jolt of recognition. She knew that voice, the accent; she had never been very close, but every demon had gotten to know that voice, heard it at least once. Rowena. Crowley's mother. "She doesn't seem like his type at all." The voice sounded dubious. "Just a tiny thing! And skinny! And short hair!" Dani flushed angrily, but said nothing.

A deep voice answered. "I'm sure," was all it said, but Dani stiffened. She knew that voice, too, and now she was deeply, seriously angry.

 _~~is that-?~~_

 _Yes._

 _~~i will be god damned.~~_

"Sam Winchester," she said quietly. The taller shadow turned toward her. "You bastard. He helped _save_ you, dammit! _I_ helped save you. You wouldn't have gotten free from Lucifer without our help." She vaguely saw his shadow shrug.

"Times change," he said equally quietly.

She was struck by a horrible, horrible thought, and she came to her knees, twisting around, peering urgently at every shadowy corner. "Charlie?" she whispered, her stomach clenching.

 _~~no. not charlie. no.~~_

She swiveled back to them, demanded fiercely, "Tell me Charlie's not involved in this!"

Sam Winchester's tall shadow jerked a bit, as if surprised. "Charlie? What's she got to do with this?"

"Who's Charlie?" Rowena asked.

Dani sank back, relieved. That - that would have killed her.

He strode forward, into the dim light coming from the windows. He was frowning, confused. "What's Charlie got to do with this?" he asked again, suspicious.

She glared up at him. "Nothing. Thankfully. I just thought, since she was so worried about _you_ \- "

"What have you - Crowley - done with her?" he demanded, fists clenching at his side. He sounded furious, ready to hurt her.

"Nothing! She came to me for _help_ \- to help _you_!" she flung at him.

"What - ?!" Now he was confused.

"She went to Purgatory for you! She could have been _killed_! Right now, she's working on that book, to come up with a spell to help _you_!" Well. Actually, she was in Purgatory again, but that would just muddy the waters... She clenched her own fists, angry that Charlie had put herself in danger for this - this - she didn't have the words, just sat and glared, her eyes a steady beetle black.

His head dipped, long hair swaying down to further shadow his face. His fists relaxed, and he said, quietly, remorsefully, "I'm sorry. This isn't on you - I wish I didn't have to involve you." He waved a wordless hand, then clenched it back into a fist, and turned away.

 _~~phone.~~_

 _What?_

 _~~your phone. do you have it?~~_

Dani reached quietly to feel her jeans pocket.

 _No. Dammit. I think it's on the coffee table._

 _~~shit.~~_

Dani huddled on the floor, hugging her knees to herself, thinking hard.


	23. Kryptonite (3 Doors Down)

When they returned to the motel room late that night, Grass in the Wind was sitting patiently by the door, tail neatly wrapped around his front paws. He tilted his muzzle at Cas in greeting, then dashed out between them, tail streaming behind him, his healing torn ear giving him a swashbuckling look.

Dean stalked into the room without a word, grabbed a bag of tortilla chips from the cupboard, opened it, and sank down in a chair at the table. Cas, wordlessly respecting his need to think, moved to one of the beds, stretched out, and pulled out his John McPhee book.

Dean started munching, staring darkly into space. There had been a few small ghost cases here in town to take his mind off Sam, but it had been a relief to see him this morning, alive, if not exactly well. Letting him sleep was probably a good idea, but he wanted to sit with him, talk with him, find out what had been going on. Him getting "trained" by that bitch Rowena, for example. Crowley stringing him out on his own blood, for fuck's sake.

And he hadn't heard back from Charlie. He pulled out his phone, turned it on. He stared at it blankly, then scrolled through the notifications. Some asshole had been given his number by a girl, and kept flooding him with messages, even though he had repeatedly texted him back saying it was a wrong number. Now there were more from the dude. Poor girl had been smart. What a douche. Dean gritted his teeth, composed another scathing text, hit send. Then he blocked the dude. The multitude of his messages disappeared, leaving a lone message behind in his queue. He glanced at it, sat up straight, called out, "Cas! Dude! Charlie texted me!" He looked at the date and growled. "Sonovabitch! She texted me _days_ ago! Dammit! If that asshole pick-up artist texts me one more time, I'll - "

Cas came over, sat across the table from him. "She texted? What did she say? Is she okay?" he asked anxiously.

"Just said to call - hold on - "

He punched the call button and waited impatiently, drumming his fingers on the tabletop, for her to answer.

"Dean!"

He waved at Cas, slumped down in the chair, blew out a relieved breath. Then he hit the speaker button, dropped the phone on the table, and started in on her.

"Kiddo. If you _ever_ run off to Purgatory again like that, I'm gonna - "

"Oh! Well! Actually, we've been, came back, went back, and we're back home again now - "

He squeezed his eyes shut. "You went _back_?! Let me get this straight - you went there _twice_?!" It was a miracle she was still alive.

"Yeah, yeah, we had to find a new hiding place for the book - "

"You found the book, Charlie?" Cas interjected.

"Oh! Hey, Cas! Well, we didn't find the book - it had been stolen - but then it appeared at Dani's, we figured whoever had stolen it was done with it, or maybe got smart and took pictures like - "

"Stolen," Dean interrupted. "It was stolen?"

"That's what I just said, Dean! Aren't you listening? Anyway, so then when I was done getting pictures to run it through my BOtD translation program, Doli had to take it back, but I told her everyone would be looking for it - "

"Doli? Who's Doli?" Cas asked, looking as confused as Dean felt.

"Doli's my Reaper - "

Dean's stomach lurched and his eyes widened. People could only see Reapers if they were dying... "Goddamit, Charlie, you said you were okay! Why do you have a Reaper hanging - "

"Dean! Stop interrupting! Doli's okay, I summoned her, she guards the book - anyway, so we had to take it back and find a new hiding place for it, and now we're back again, and we're just at Dani's door - I had to tell Doli it was rude to just appear in people's houses, she's kind of awkward about human things - "

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, gave his head a quick shake. "Okay. One step at a time. Let me see if I've got this straight. You summoned a Reaper."

"Yeah, and - "

"Charlie. Stop. This Reaper - Doli? - took you to Purgatory to find the book"

"Yes, and - "

"Stop. The book wasn't there, someone had stolen it."

"Dean, I _told_ you all this already!" She sounded frustrated.

"I'm trying to put it in order. So you left Purgatory. And somehow connected up with the book at Dani's?"

"Yeah, yeah, there was this _huge_ snowstorm - "

"We got that storm here, too. So then you took pictures, and you and this Doli person went back to Purgatory to hide the book again. And now you're back."

"And now we're back!" she repeated triumphantly. "Just hold on a sec, would you?" He heard her knocking on a door.

* * *

The door opened, and Charlie began, "Hey, Dani - ", then stopped. It wasn't Dani, it was Crowley. She blushed, hoping they hadn't interrupted the two of them again.

"Miss Bradbury," he said quietly. He was looking...well, not his normal self, she thought. Kind of grim. And his eyes were sparkling red, which she'd never seen before, and was somewhat unnerving.

Doli moved from behind her to stand by her side, and said mildly, "Another demon. Stronger than Dani. Much." She paused and looked at him intently. He was looking back at her with narrowed eyes. "Are you an important demon?" she asked.

His lips twitched with amusement. "King of Hell, at your service. And you...what are you? A Reaper?" he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Yes. Charlie, you have strange friends."

Charlie brushed her hair back behind her ears. "Um. He's more of an acquaintance...hey, Crowley, is Dani here? Are we - um - interrupting anything?" she asked awkwardly.

He started to answer when a squawking from the phone she had forgotten interrupted him. She lifted it back to her ear, sang out, "Dean! Can I get back to you - we're at Dani's, and Crowley's here, and - "

Two voices interrupted her. Dean, on the phone, snarled, "Crowley?! Lemme talk to that damned sonovabitch, I've got something to say to him - "

At the same time, Crowley's head tilted, and he said, urgently, "Dean? Winchester? Give me the phone, I need to chat. Now." He held out a demanding hand.

Charlie looked at him, looked at the phone, shrugged, and handed it over. Doli murmured, "What is happening?"

"Got me," Charlie hissed back.

Crowley had turned his back. "Squirrel! I need to talk with you! Where are you?" They heard Dean's voice, raised in anger, and Crowley said impatiently, "Yes, yes, yes, I'm aware of all that, but that's over. Bygones and all that. Where are you?" More angry noises from the phone. Crowley rolled his eyes, and said, "Never mind, I'll just - "

And he vanished.

Doli raised her eyebrows. "That was abrupt. He has your phone." Charlie opened her mouth, closed it, and just looked at the Reaper. "Do you want to go where he is to get it back? I believe taking your phone would be considered 'rude'. Yes?"

Charlie merely nodded weakly.

* * *

" - 'Bygones'?! ' _Bygones_ '?! I'll give you fucking 'bygones', you slimy douchebag!" Dean snarled. The sound from the phone echoed strangely, then the call abruptly ended. Cas stared at something behind him, mouth slightly ajar, pointed, and Dean twisted around.

Crowley was standing there, phone in hand. "Hello, boys," he said genially, then he stepped forward, grabbed a chair, and dragged it to the table.

Dean ground his teeth, then surged to his feet, looming over the demon, fists clenched. "'Hello, boys'?! I'm gonna - "

Crowley sat down, unintimidated, tossing the phone on the table. "You're going to rip my heart out and feed it to the dogs," he said nonchalantly, waving a dismissive hand. "Can that wait, please? I have a more important issue right now, and need your help." He leaned forward, rapping his knuckles on the tabletop.

"You. Need. Help," Dean ground out, disbelieving. "You - you - you _hook_ my brother on your own fucking blood, put him through _hell_ , and expect - "

"Hey, bitches!" Charlie greeted them happily. Dean slewed around, gaping at her sudden appearance. There was a stranger, a small, outdoorsy looking Native American woman with ragged short black hair, standing with her hand on Charlie's shoulder. Dean felt like his brain was short-circuiting. He pointed at them, choking out, "How - how - "

Crowley interrupted. "Miss Bradbury's pet Reaper transported them." Dean mouthed the words "pet Reaper" with a stunned look on his face. "Your phone is right here," Crowley said to Charlie, pointing at the phone on the table. "Now, to business..."

Charlie darted forward, grabbed her phone. "Humph!" she huffed. "Don't go taking other people's property, darn it!"

Crowley eyed her with irritation. "I _am_ the King of Hell. It's sort of expected - "

Dean had had enough. "All right, everyone. Just. _Shut. UP!_ " he roared.

Mouths snapped closed around the room. Charlie stared at him with wide eyes. Cas looked oddly amused, as did the - Reaper? Crowley was frowning, and Dean could see, now that he had a chance, that his eyes were glowing steady, angry, crossroads-demon red, and he looked grim.

Dean dropped back into his chair, leaned his head in his hands, clutching his hair. "This is insane," he stated clearly. Everyone waited quietly. He let his arms drop to the table, sat up straight, pointed at Crowley. "You. You sonovabitch, what the _hell_ are you doing here?" He wanted to add, again, "How dare you ask for my help?!", but right now he mainly wanted answers and to get this circus under control.

Crowley looked at him, lips folded. "I will cut to the chase. Someone summoned my Dani-girl." He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, frowning.

Charlie made an abrupt movement, muttered something, looking concerned.

It seemed like a total non-sequitur to Dean. He gave his head a short, sharp, disbelieving shake, asked, "So...what? What's the problem?"

Crowley's eyes flared bright red. Then he drew a deep breath, and said, acidly, "Aside from the danger to her? My dismay? The fact that I can't locate her, which means she's stuck in a devil's trap somewhere? The problem, Squirrel, is that someone knows what she is to me, and can either, A, use it to force me to do things, or, B, use it to lure me into a trap."

Dean dragged his bag of chips over, pulled one out, popped it into his mouth. Then he shrugged. "So? Sounds good to me," he sniped, mouth full. "Maybe whoever it is can kill you. More power to him. Or her."

Crowley's eyes glittered angrily. "You _owe_ me, pet. You owe Dani much, _much_ more. Without our help - _her_ help - your precious brother would still be stuck in his own head, possessed by Lucifer. And Lucy himself would be rampaging around, cooking up batches of Croatoan, and you - and your Hunter friends - would be spending your time on the run, trying to stomp out Croatoan research labs across the country as they sprang up like cockroaches."

Charlie interrupted. "Dean - what if they - they hurt Dani?" she asked, voice low and distressed. "Or - or - kill her?"

He glared at her. That was totally unfair.

Crowley closed his eyes, and his shoulders slumped. "Please," he said, with difficulty. "I am...begging you. Please help me find her. I...need her." His lips twisted at the admission.

Dean closed his own eyes.

The problem here was that he _liked_ Dani. Whatever he might think of Crowley, Dani was okay. And now Charlie was giving him her version of Sam's puppy-dog eyes. And Crowley - _Crowley_ , of all people! - was begging for help. Literally. To top it all off, whatever Crowley had done to Sam - which he would pay for, oh, yes! - it was true that they would never have gotten to the point where Sam could kick Lucifer out of his body without him and Dani. And Dani's vessel, Danielle - she had helped, too; _she_ certainly didn't deserve whatever was happening.

It was an ethical dilemma. And it sucked. Royally. Because what it came to was he was going to have to help. Because Dani. And Danielle. And Charlie.

He popped his eyes open again. "I don't know what in the hell you think we can do, but, yeah, okay, I'm in," he said, resigned.

* * *

It was morning. She had curled up on the floor like a cat, trying to sleep, and, as a result, one side of her body ached. She absently soothed the pain with her power, glad that even if she couldn't get it out of the devil's trap, she could still use it inside.

They were still there, Sam Winchester and Rowena. She had kept watch while he slept, and vice versa; Dani had checked periodically, cracking an eye open, but not moving.

Now, he was coming over to the trap, a mug of something in his hand. She watched expressionlessly.

"Morning," he greeted her. She said nothing. He shrugged awkwardly, reached the mug in across the outer ring. "Breakfast - "

She flung her power out, grabbing his hand with it and pulling it, and him, as hard as she could. The mug smashed to the floor, spewing oatmeal. He staggered, frowned, moved his other hand, and something was brushing her tendrils of power off, twisting them like fingers. She gasped, flinched, and sullenly withdrew her power, pulling it back in. She glared, still saying nothing.

He sighed, frowned at her, forehead filled with wrinkles, notched his thumbs in his jeans pockets. "Well. That was stupid of me, should have remembered. Looks like no breakfast. Sorry." He turned and walked away, back to the witch. Her eyes followed.

 _~~hunh. quick thinking. too bad it didn't work.~~_

 _He's strong. Even without the demon blood._

 _~~yah. well. we'll figure something out.~~_

The two of them were seated at the lone table, and she could tell they were practicing something. Or, rather, Winchester was practicing, the witch was looking on and commenting. It looked like he was practicing holding her with power. She was making what looked like hex bags in between bouts of practice.

 _~~so how do these trap things work? how would you get out?~~_

 _Someone has to break the outer circle._

 _~~um. it's just chalk, right? can't you just smudge it away?~~_

 _Can't touch it. The trap part starts right inside the outer circle._

 _~~damn.~~_

Dani snorted softly.

 _~~does it need to be physically broken, or can it be visually broken?~~_

 _Hunh_?

 _~~does it need to be actually smudged away? like, what would happen if you laid something across the circle?~~_

 _Innie-Me. Look around. There's nothing in the trap to lay over it, so the question is moot._

 _~~excuse me. don't you have clothes on? don't they - oh, i don't know - come off?~~_

Dani froze. She turned the idea over in her head, examining it.

 _~~helloooo?~~_

 _Shhh. I'm thinking._

She had no idea if it would work, none at all. Trust Innie-Me, an artist and clothes designer, to come up with it, though. So far as she knew, no-one had ever thought of it. Then she thought some more, and shook her head.

 _Nope. Remember when Crowley summoned me? The devil's trap was underneath a carpet. I don't think it'll work._

Innie-Me was silent for a moment. Then:

 _~~pb is looking for you, right?~~_

 _I expect so. I don't know if he knows this place, though._

 _~~can't he just feel you?~~_

 _No. Trap blocks it. I can't feel him._

She realized that, even before Jemma - the bitch! - had taught her how to "feel" someone on purpose, she had always felt him, since the first time she had seen him. That "presence" she had slightly scoffed at, looking at him across the cocktail bar. Now, though, there was nothing. It made her antsy; she felt odd, almost incomplete.

 _~~girl. you are a sad case.~~_

 _Oh, stop it. It is what it is._

 _~~yeah, yeah. bastard's lucky he's got you.~~_

 _Not right now. If they can use me to trap him..._

 _~~gotcha. his weak spot.~~_

They waited, and watched.

* * *

Crowley was impatient, itching to start looking. Squirrel had put him off last night, pointing out that humans needed sleep, and he and Charlie were human, ergo, they needed sleep. Crowley, frankly, found it damned inconvenient, a nuisance. Oh, some demons slept, Dani for instance. She claimed that it helped her think better, that she often solved tough problems in her sleep. And, actually, he slept, too, sometimes; he just never let anyone know. Except Dani.

He rocked back and forth on the balls of the feet, arms folded across his chest, looking out the motel room window. Dani. Out there someplace. Where? Who?

The "why" he knew perfectly well. Oh, not specifics, but generally: someone hated him/didn't want him to be King of Hell/some other complaint, and had seized upon her as a way to get to him.

When he got her back, that someone was going to regret it. He kept himself busy while the humans slept mentally designing a special torture chamber just for the purpose.

Cas and the Reaper hadn't slept, of course. Cas had read some natural history book, with one break to let a bedraggled-looking fox into the room. The Reaper had sat placidly at the table, doing nothing. All night. She was definitely a strange one. Dani would be fascinated.

He ground his teeth. Every single one of his thoughts seemed to come back to that damned little idiot baby demon.

When there were stirrings from the beds, he whirled around, ready to pounce. He strode to Dean's bed, sat down, and peered at him. "Ready to go?" he asked.

Dean just glared at him wordlessly. He turned his attention to the bed Miss Bradbury was in. She had her eyes open. She, too, was glaring, thunderously.

"Coffee!" she snarled. Crowley blinked, and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Hey. Kiddo. Whatever happened to your cheery 'Merry Christmas'?" Squirrel called out. Miss Bradbury growled, swept the bedclothes off, and stalked to the coffee maker, busied herself fumbling with it to produce coffee. The Reaper stood up, moved toward the beds, and said mildly, "Charlie is a demon when she wakes up. I have never heard her be cheery at that point."

The person in question whirled around, frowning. "I say that 'Merry Christmas' shit when I wake up from a nap!" she snapped. She turned back to the coffee, muttering, "Come on, come on, come on!"

Crowley closed his eyes. "This all too, too domestic for me," he murmured sourly.

"Yeah, well, suck it, Crowley. You want our help, you deal with us as we come," Dean grumped, sliding to a sitting position on the other side of the bed and running his hands through his short, dark hair.

"I am sucking it. And it tastes dreadful," Crowley snarked back. Though he did like Squirrel with bed head...it reminded him of their adventures last year. He tapped his foot, getting more and more impatient with the dilly-dallying.

After a few gulps of coffee, Miss Bradbury shook her head, came over to the bed, and sat next to Dean, poked him, grinned. It was an amazing transformation, almost as quick as magic. "So! Have you heard from Sam? Tell me! I've got that book, y'know - the Book of the Saved - and now that it's translated, I can look through it for a spell or something to stop his addiction - "

Dean smiled down at her. "Don't have to. Sam's dry. Rowena - " He grimaced. "He got together with the bitch. Ugh. But she did have a spell to fast-track detox. He's clean now. Left him yesterday morning, sleeping like the dead. He was pretty out of it, but the witch said he just needed to sleep."

"You mean I didn't need to get the book?!" Her face fell.

The Reaper looked interested, too.

"'S'okay, Charlie - if it hadn't worked, we'd be blowing up your phone, asking if you had the spell yet. It wasn't for nothing. You did good."

So. Moose was free of his blood addiction. That was good. An episode best put behind -

He stopped, examined the thought.

Moose. No longer under his thumb.

Moose, with Mother.

Mother, who wanted him dead.

Moose, filled with rage.

"So where _is_ our darling Samantha? Why's he not here, one of your merry band?" he asked lightly.

"Dude. Are you _really_ asking? As if I'd let you anywhere near him," Dean said sharply. "He's safe, in a warehouse in town. That's all I'm gonna say."

Crowley waved a placating hand. "Understandable. Now. While you lot are still busy pulling yourselves together, I think I'll just step outside for a few. Fresh air, y'know. Does wonders! Back shortly, darlings!" He smiled gently at them all, walked to the door, and slid out. The sooner he moved, the better.


	24. The Reckoning (Halestorm)

_~~nobody in books ever talks about how boring it is.~~_

 _What?_

 _~~being a captive.~~_

Innie-Me had a point. Watching Winchester and Rowena doing their thing on the other side of the room had gotten old a long time ago. She had no idea how much time had passed; she suspected not as much as it felt like. It was still morning, that much she knew. Maybe she could ask them for a tablet, so she could pass the time playing games? They could just shove it across the circle...it wasn't as if they were going to do anything to her, she was just bait.

Right?

She sighed, put her head down on her knees.

She couldn't feel him, but could definitely feel the tiny movement of displaced air, hear the soft, barely audible sound it made. It came from behind and to her side. She tilted her head to look, and he was there, holding his finger to his lips. He stepped forward, started dragging his foot across the outer circle. She came up to a crouch, ready to sprint out as soon as he broke it.

" _Oi! Giant!_ "

* * *

Sam jerked to attention at Rowena's urgent call. She was pointing. He whirled around, and Crowley was there, by the devil's trap, just about to break the outer circle.

Without thinking, he reached out with his power, the way they had been practicing all that morning, slammed filaments of it down on Crowley's arms, legs, pinning the arms to his body, stifling his power.

They had debated, off and on, whether he would be strong enough, and had come up with a plan. Crowley was struggling, and Sam's forehead sprang beads of sweat as he concentrated on holding him. While he did that, Rowena grabbed the hex bags she had been constructing during the practice session, and strode swiftly toward the two demons, her long skirt swirling around her legs. She was chanting as she moved, and when she got close enough, she tossed one bag near Crowley. She stepped past him, behind him, and tossed a second bag, then moved to his other side, dropping the third bag, so he was enclosed in a triangle. Then she threw her hands up, said loudly, "So mote it be!", and dropped her hands, palms outspread.

The pressure against Sam's power abruptly decreased. He staggered, caught his breath, and then strode quickly after Rowena, keeping the tendrils of power wrapped around Crowley.

"Moose! Darling!" Crowley called out as he approached. He was smiling. "So good to see you. You're looking much better!"

Sam growled, but was caught off guard mentally. It was an act. It had to be. He was playing for time. "You're not getting out of it this time, Crowley," he said, voice firm and level. He flicked a glance at Dani. She was poised in a runner's crouch, but her head was swiveling watchfully back and forth between him and Rowena. Her eyes were a steady demon black, her face still.

Rowena was standing on the other side of Crowley, face scornful, small fists clenched at her sides.

"My boy! What's there to get out of?" he asked lightly. "We talk, we work some things out, you give me my Dani-girl, and we all go our separate ways. Everyone's happy!"

Sam stopped a short distance from him, mouth twisting. "There's nothing to talk about. People forget about it so easily, but you're a murderer. For the sheer hell of it. You hurt people. You torture people. _Good_ people. Friends of mine, Crowley." His voice was low and hard. "And I'm tired of excusing it because you're 'useful'." He spat the word out. "Because 'better the devil we know'." He stepped closer.

"Now, Moose. You're just upset because of the blood thing." Sam noticed Dani's attention suddenly shift to Crowley. That was interesting. "That's all over and done with. You're clean now, I hear! And I just needed to borrow some power to...take care of a few things. One of which was "the devil you don't know", a.k.a. a little lady name of Jemma. You _really_ wouldn't have liked her in charge." He was nonchalant, rocking back and forth on his feet, though it didn't look right with his arms held stiffly by his sides.

Rowena made an impatient movement. "Och, Samuel, enough! Let's be gettin' on with it!"

Crowley turned his head to look at her. "Mother. Darling. And what nasty poison have you been dripping into poor Sam Winchester's ears about me?"

She smirked at him, raising her perfectly penciled eyebrows, smoothing her hands down her waist. "Och, Fergus, you'll be disappointed to hear that the only thing I've said to him about you was that I wanted you dead. I was too busy helpin' him try to control that wild power." She stopped, thought a moment, and added, grudgingly, "Oh, yes, and I said to him that I thought you were bein' quite creative lately."

"She's telling the truth, Crowley," Sam said levelly. "Nothing else. I'm quite capable of wanting to kill you on my own. For a wide variety of reasons. Really." And he was. The only problem...they had Crowley pinned down, yes, but he hadn't had the time to get an angel blade - Crowley had found Dani much sooner than they had expected. But. He did know where one was. Could he transport an object with his power? He would need all his power to even try, which meant he had only a few seconds. He would have to drop the bindings on Crowley, grab the angel blade, and move swiftly.

The thoughts had taken only a second. Crowley was still making snarky remarks to Rowena, and seemed engrossed. Sam drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes, concentrated, dropped his hold on Crowley, reached...

The instant the bindings fell, Crowley was in motion, turning to face Sam head on. His eyes flared red as he dug a hand into his suit jacket, lifted the other. Then he froze.

Sam opened his eyes and smiled grimly at him, flipping the angel blade in his hand. "Looking for this?" he asked. He hid his deep relief that the gamble had paid off.

* * *

"Where _is_ that smarmy dick?" Dean was irritated. "All that pushing to get us on our feet, and now that we are, he's disappeared?"

He, Cas, Charlie, and the Reaper - Doki? Doli? - were standing outside the motel room, looking every which way for the King of Hell. And there wasn't a trace. Damn the man.

Cas was frowning, Charlie shrugged, and Doli - Doki? - looked like she was listening to something.

"Well, shit." He threw his hands in the air, slapped them against his thighs. "What do we do n - "

The Reaper interrupted. "He is that way." She pointed. Then she frowned. "I can...feel him? Why?" She paused, and her frown deepened. "He has touched the book. How did that happen?"

"Never mind," Dean said as he grabbed the Reaper's elbow. "You can find him? Then let's go." He shoved her gently in the direction she had been pointing, waved at the others to follow.

Cas said, abruptly, "I can sense him, too. He is nearby. We can translocate."

"Awesome! Whatever! Let's just get this find-Dani roadshow on the - on the road, dammit," he finished lamely.

Doli said, "He _is_ near. I can pinpoint him. I will take Charlie." She reached out for Charlie's shoulder, and Dean seized Cas's hand, muttering, "Go, go, _go,_ before she's dumped into the middle of a bad - "

They were in the warehouse. He knew this place.

" - situation."

There was Crowley, facing Sam, who had an angel blade drawn and a grim smile on his face. There was Rowena, looking on with a victorious smirk. There was Dani, up against the edge of a devil's trap, looking frantic. There were Charlie and her pet Reaper, whose name, for some reason, he couldn't remember correctly.

Bad situation. Oh, shit.

"Hey, Sammy, what in hell's going on here?" he called out, but he had a sinking feeling that it was just what it looked like. Sam - _Sam_ , dammit! - had kidnapped Dani. Shit.

"Keep out of this, Dean," Sam answered quietly. Dean knew that look on his face, the way his nostrils were flaring, the muscles around his nose and mouth and jaw were twitching. He was in a total rage.

* * *

The appearance of four people - one of them Dean - had rattled him. But he had the blade, Crowley was unarmed, the hex bags were stifling Crowley's power so he couldn't lash out. He was still dangerous, though - the deep red light flaring in his eyes made it obvious.

Sam took a slow step forward. He reached with his mind to slap the bindings back on, but Crowley was prepared this time, and they just slid off. Very well, then. He changed his approach, lashing out and just latching on to Crowley's arms, yanking at him with the power. He couldn't bind him, but he could hinder him and pull him close. He yanked again. Crowley stumbled forward, eyes wide. "Moose - let's talk about this - " Again. "No," Sam replied. And again. He was close enough now.

Sam pulled his arm back, then stabbed the blade deep into Crowley's chest. The red glow of demon essence sputtered around the blade, and blood began seeping out, a deep red against the black of Crowley's suit jacket. Sam's lips pulled back in a feral grin. "I've wanted to do this for a long - " He twisted the blade. More blood oozed out, and Crowley fumbled at the blade. " - long - " He twisted it again. " - _long_ time." Crowley sagged against the blade, his hand sliding off it. Sam twisted it one last time, pushing in deeper. Glowing red spidered across Crowley's face, his black hair and beard, sizzling and sputtering, and his eyes, nostrils, and mouth flared red.

Sam pulled out the blade and Crowley's body slid to the floor.

Everything was silent, except for a high-pitched keening from Dani, in the devil's trap. Sam flinched at that, then he shook himself, dropped the blade, looked around.

Charlie's eyes were wide and round with shock. Dean was blinking. Cas was looking grim. A strange Native American woman was staring down at Crowley's body with her head tilted in interest.

Rowena looked across at him, over Crowley's body, her hands clasped together. She smiled widely, and crowed, "You've _done_ it! Well done!"

Sam's lips twisted. He didn't feel anything right now, just...empty. Not victorious, not satisfied...empty.

Charlie dashed to the devil's trap, dragged her foot across the outer circle, pulled Dani out, wrapped her arms around her. "Dani - Dani, I'm sorry - so sorry - " Dani pushed her arms away and walked slowly over to Crowley's body. She sank to her knees beside him, reached out a shaking hand, stroked his hair back.

"Jamie?" she whispered. She leaned back on her heels. Then she looked at Sam. Her eyes were steady demon black, her face expressionless. She just stared at him. He flinched again.

* * *

Dean was in shock. Crowley. Dead. The way Sam had done it, obviously pulling at him using power. The look on Sam's face while he was doing it. That bitch Rowena, being so obscenely happy. Dani's pain.

Shit.

He should be happy, right? This was good, right? No more Crowley dragging them into shitstorms.

No more Crowley.

That was going to take some time to really sink in.

 _Cain circles him, holding the First Blade, pounding him with words. He's hurt, weak, beaten, and Cain knows it. "First...first, you'd kill Crowley. There'd be some strange mixed feelings on that one, but you'd have your reasons..."_

He shook himself. Yeah. Mixed feelings.

The silence in the room was broken again, this time by Dani.

"I'm taking his body. You'll let me do that. Right?" She was staring at Sam with no expression, eyes fully black. Her voice was cold, level. He jerked his head in a nod. Dani laid her hands on the body, and both vanished.

Shit. Why wasn't he happy about this?

He shook himself again, walked over to Sam, laid a careful hand on his shoulder, shook him gently. "Hey. Sam. You okay?" Sam turned his head to look at him. He was pale, shaking slightly, eyes wide and staring. Dean dug his fingers in. "Sammy?"

"Dean. I - I - "

Without warning, he slumped against Dean, his weight dragging him down. Dean caught him, eased them both to the floor. "Sammy! Shit!" He grabbed Sam's chin with one hand, patted his cheek with the other, ignoring the pain of his one leg, which was twisted under him and bearing both their weights. "Talk to me, man!"

"Hurts..." Sam said faintly.

He looked around wildly. "Cas! _Cas_ , where are you?! Sam needs you!"

"Right here," came the reassuring answer. Cas was crouching behind him. He put one hand on Dean's shoulder to maintain his balance, reached around with the other, laid it on Sam's forehead, focusing. He held still for a moment, then withdrew his hand a bit, looked at Dean. "He used all his reserves. Too much, too soon. And he has a power hangover. I think sleep will solve the problems."

"Och! I could have told you that much!"

Rowena. She had moved to stand by them, unnoticed. She practically oozed satisfaction. He looked up at her, narrowed his eyes. She shrugged, smiled coyly. "I _am_ the most powerful witch in the world. Samuel will be fine, with a few days rest. You could leave him - "

"No thanks, bitch." Dean's voice was hard. He really didn't like her. "He's coming with us, this time. Y'see, I think you've just been using him." She shrugged again. "Like mother, like son. You're poison, so far as I'm concerned. So I'm going to take my brother far, far away from you." He laid Sam gently on the ground and stood up, looming over her tiny frame. "And one of these days..."

"One of these day, what, hero?" Her lips curled in a sneer. "He still needs training, y'know. Whether y'like it or not."

He glared down at her, working his jaw. "Maybe. If he does, we'll find someone else." He turned away, dismissing her, looking for Cas.

"Don't you turn your back on me, Winchester!" she snarled. "That giant is _my_ apprentice!"

He turned back, pursed his lips thoughtfully, rubbed the back of his head. "Just don't get it, do you?" he asked contemptuously. "He's family. My _brother_. Keep away from him."

She took a step forward. "I _will_ take him."

Cas was suddenly standing between them. Dean couldn't see his face, but could tell by the blue glow reflecting from Rowena's porcelain skin that his eyes were flaring angel grace. A blue-white glow sprouted from his shoulders, spread wide, and he seemed to grow larger, Rowena to shrink. He held out a hand toward her and said, low and dangerous, " _GO._ "

She clenched her fists, seething, but finally wilted, broke, turned away, left. Cas's wing glow died back, he shrank back to normal size, and his shoulders slumped. Dean laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Cas. Let's get him back to the motel."

Cas nodded, turned around.

Charlie had moved close to them, trailed by her Reaper, during the confrontation with Rowena. Now she said, in a small, sad voice, "I think - I think I'm going to go back to New York for a while. Get - get some things done." She waved a hand aimlessly. "Make sure Doli gets back to - to being a Reaper. Stuff like that. I'll see you. And Sam. In a bit."

He reached out, slid a gentle hand around the back of her neck, pulled her close. "Hey. You all right, kiddo?"

She rested her dark red head on his chest for a moment. "Yeah. I'll be fine. Just need some time."

He kissed the top of her head. "I love you," he said. She pulled her head back, looked up at him, smiled shakily.

"I know." She hugged him, hard. Then she turned to - Doli? - and said, "Let's go." The Reaper looked at her with somber eyes, nodded, touched her shoulder. Then they were gone.

He turned to Cas. "Our turn." Cas nodded again, grasped him with one hand, Sam with the other, and they were back at the motel room.

Grass, curled up on the foot of his bed, opened an eye and lazily flipped his tail at them.


	25. Bittersweet Symphony (The Verve)

Frozen.

She was frozen.

She flitted with the body to the bedroom in his condo. Then she called Davis in. Davis walked in, his normal bland, imperturbable self, then stopped in his tracks. His face crumpled. "Sir...?" he whispered. Then he moved to the bed, sank down on it, stared at the body, and whispered again, "Fergus...?" She didn't have to tell him that he hadn't smoked out; there was death residue any demon would recognize. After a few minutes, Davis turned his face to her, and said, brokenly, "Miss Dani...Miss Dani - what - what do I do? Where - where do I go? Centuries. Mister Redmond - Crowley - I've been with him for...centuries. On and off. What do I do?"

She didn't have an answer.

She wrapped the body in power so it was in stasis. She felt in his pockets, pulled out his phone, scrolled to his contacts, then his favorites. Her name was there. The idiot had put a red heart emoticon by it. She ignored it, looked through the list, began making calls to his inner circle.

They came. They were all stunned. Like Davis, some had been with him, supporting him, for centuries. It wasn't friendship, but it was fierce loyalty. When they hesitantly asked her to stand up, take the throne, she shuddered, then laughed in their faces. She did, however, give them two commands. They bared their teeth, nodded, demon black flashing in their eyes. They would pass the word.

She sent them away.

Innie-Me said nothing, just sort of hummed in the background. It was strange, but also strangely comforting.

She returned to her nest, immersed herself in research. She was looking for something in particular.

There were reminders of him everywhere. She left the bottle of scotch and glasses on the kitchen island, trailing fingers down the bottle whenever she walked by.

Davis appropriated her guest room, and her. They didn't talk at all. He just made sure she was fed, that her clothes were clean, that she stopped her obsessive research enough to rest, get some sleep, bathe. He pushed her out of the nest to take walks in the frigid winter air. She did the same for him.

One day, there was a knock on her door. She opened it to find Charlie, with Doli, standing in the hall.

"Dani..."

She nodded. "Charlie..."

Charlie made a strange grimace, then stepped forward, grabbed her, hugged her hard. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're hurting so bad," she murmured. Dani stood stiffly within the embrace, shrugged. Charlie hugged harder, and Dani slowly, slowly relaxed into it, let her head drop to Charlie's shoulder. She drew in a shaky breath, said quietly, voice cracking, "I...miss him." Charlie stroked her short hair, said softly, "I know."

Then she shook herself, stepped back, pushed her short red hair back behind her ears, and said, "Well. Christmas. I thought - well. Um. Maybe you'd like to hang out with me and Doli. Christmas Day. Y'know - "

Dani blinked at her. A tiny, thin thread of amusement wormed its way to the surface. She smiled faintly. "Charlie. Demon, remember?"

Charlie opened her mouth awkwardly, closed it with a snap. "Oh. Yeah. Right. Um. Well, anyway, so I really didn't think you'd come, so I brought your present - " She thrust a small, gaily wrapped present at Dani. Dani slowly took it from her. She looked down at it, turned it over in her hands. "You can open it now! Go on - open it!" Dani smiled faintly again at her eagerness. She fumbled at it, pulling the bright red and green paper off, looked.

It was a flash drive. She looked up at Charlie questioningly.

"It's all of it - the translation - the Book of the Saved _and_ the Book of the Damned. All digitized, in a database, indexed, tagged, everything!"

Dani slowly closed her hand around the drive. Fodder for her research. Maybe what she was looking for would be there...

"Thank you." She drew in a shuddery breath, and repeated, more loudly, "Thank you, Charlie. This is...priceless."

Charlie grinned. "I _knew_ you'd like it!" she crowed. Then she pulled Dani into a rough hug again, released her, stepped back. "So. Uh. I'll see you. Soon!" Doli nodded wordlessly at Dani, touched Charlie, and they disappeared.

Dani closed the door slowly, leaned her head against it. There was now a small - very small - spot of warmth in her frozen interior landscape.

* * *

It was days before Sam was ready to be moved. Dean hovered over him incessantly, pressing rabbit food, protein, and strange health drinks on him when he was awake, watching him closely while he was sleeping. He had shoved him into the shower as soon as possible, making snarky remarks about rancid hair and crusty man sweat. Sam emerged from the shower pale and shaky, but at least he was clean again.

Finally, though, they gathered everything that had gotten strewn across the motel room, packed their things, threw out empty soda and beer bottles, packed the car. Even that small amount of work left Sam exhausted, so he collapsed in the car and promptly fell asleep huddled against the passenger door.

The plan was to drive to the cabin in the Adirondacks, return the rental car, get back to Baby - Baby! - again, hole up there for a few weeks. Dean was happy, energized as he threw the car into gear, pulled out of the motel, and drove back to the convenience store to stock up on road food and gas. Cas went into the store to get the goodies while he pumped the gas. He was singing Van Halen, relaxed and looking forward to the future, when the man sauntered up to him.

"Winchester..." the stranger sneered. Then he flashed beetle black eyes, which he slid to the car, where Sam was sleeping. Dean tensed, ready to spring. "That your brother back there?" Dean took a step forward, growling, and the demon swept a hand to send him slamming against the hood of the car. "I'll take that as a yes." He pulled a knife out of his waist sheath, stalked to the passenger side. He looked back at Dean and smiled toothily. "Orders, yeah, but I'd do it anyway. Some of us _liked_ having Crowley in charge..." Dean struggled, but couldn't move; he growled again, wordlessly.

Then Cas was behind the demon, eyes flaring blue, reaching a hand out, smiting. The demon hit the ground, and Dean staggered up, dashed to the gas nozzle, jerked it out, and jumped in the car. Cas moved equally fast getting into the back seat. Dean threw the car into gear and peeled out of the station, speeding up as he headed north on the small highway.

"Shit. Shit shit shit. Thanks, Cas." Cas nodded, catching his eyes in the rear view mirror.

"Orders," Cas said. "I assume orders to kill Sam."

"Yeah. Guess we'll just have to keep our eyes open."

Sam had slept through the whole thing.

* * *

They didn't encounter any more demons on the trip.

The cabin was snug and cozy. They kept a large fire going in the fireplace, and it kept most of the cabin warm. Dean caught Cas muttering on his phone to someone a few times - he presumed it was Charlie. Remembering how they had connived at the Thanksgiving feast, he just smiled and didn't press him for details. Sam mostly lazed around on the sofa, wrapped in various fuzzy blankets. Grass in the Wind had darted away from the car when they arrived, and he hadn't seen the adolescent fox since.

He snuck into town one day, to a liquor store, and bought a bottle of the most expensive scotch they had. He returned to the cabin in Baby - Baby! God, it was so good to get back to her! - poked his head in the door, told Cas he was going for a walk. Then he headed out through the woods, head tucked down in his heavy jacket like a turtle, bag with bottle tucked between his arm and body. He wandered aimlessly, found a spot he liked, and stopped. He pulled the bottle out, stuffed the empty bag in his pocket. He opened it, took a swig. He blinked, then blew out a deep, surprised breath.

" _Damn_ , that's good stuff!" he commented, holding the bottle up and peering at it. Then he looked around, shuffled his feet awkwardly, and began to speak to the air around him.

"So. Okay. Look, this is weird as hell, but here goes." He held the scotch up as if he were saluting someone.

"You were a slimy, scheming, manipulative sonovabitch, Crowley, but, dammit, you had style. And, in a weird kind of way, you were - uh - sort of a friend of mine. So - uh - this is for you." He poured a small amount of the scotch on the ground, where it seeped through the crusted snow, turning it a pale amber. "Look. What you did to Sammy was shitty, shitty stuff. And I get why he felt he needed to kill you - hell, _I_ wanted to kill you!" He paused, took another swig. "And you did some really nasty things, to us, to other people. But. You helped us with Lucifer - twice. You helped us with Leviathan. At the end, you did the right thing about the Mark." He poured some more out on the ground, then swallowed some himself. "So. Uh. Anyway. Thanks? I guess. And I'm kinda going to miss having you around, you douche." He stopped, head down, shifted his feet again. Then he sighed, looked up, and said. "So. Okay, then. I guess that's it. Bye."

He crouched down, twisted the bottle into the snow so that it stood up straight, stood back up, and nodded at it. Then he turned away, trudged back to the cabin, hunched into his jacket, hands in his pockets.

* * *

Sam started out with short walks a few times a day. Then longer walks, with a few intervals of running. He was feeling stronger, healthier. Christmas Eve morning, he left the cabin with an axe, spent some time splitting wood for the fire. When he felt he had done as much as was wise, he laid the axe down beside the wood, stood and stretched, and just let the warmth of the exercise seep through him. It felt good.

After a few minutes, he pushed back his long hair, looked around, and decided to take a walk, enjoy the day. He followed an open trail for a while, and found himself at the bench where he and Charlie had talked, weeks ago. He sat down, stretched his long legs out, stuffed his hands in his pockets, leaned his head back and stared up at the sky. It was a wide, open blueness that soothed and relaxed him. He slumped down further, sighing.

He heard snow crunching, someone walking toward him. He pulled himself up a bit, looked. A small form walked slowly through the woods toward him, head down, dark red hair making a bright contrast to the snow, the dead trees. Charlie. He waited until she was closer, then called out, "Hey."

She looked up, and a warm smile spread across her face. "Sam! I was looking for you!"

"Well, you found me," he said fondly, with a return smile. He patted the bench beside him. "Come on, sit down." She trudged through the crisp snow to the bench, sank down onto it with a sigh. They sat in companionable silence, faces turned up to the weak sunlight. Finally, she sighed, tilted her head back down, poked him in the ribs.

"So. I was angry about what you did to Dani."

He looked down, folded his lips, rubbed a gloved fist on his thigh. "Yeah. Well. I was...in a kind of a bad place then, Charlie."

"Yeah. I get it," she said, staring out at the trees. "Still recovering from the detox. Angry. Hating." He winced. "So. Did it - killing Crowley - did it make you feel better?" She peered at him intently, her hair swaying down into her serious face.

He turned his head away. "No," he said in a low voice. They were both quiet for a while, then he added, "I had - reasons. Or at least, I thought I did. But in the end...in the end...it was revenge, pure and simple." He frowned, forehead crinkling into deep wrinkles. "It made me feel...well. If I'd done it for justice, or to protect someone, save someone...it would have been different. But I really did it because I _hated_ him. Hated what he had done to me. So..." He trailed off, stared thoughtfully before him.

She looked at him, his profile, nodded. "I know. When I killed Wellington-when Bad Charlie killed Wellington, but that's the same as me killing him, because Bad Charlie is really me - anyway. It didn't make me feel better. Y'know? It made me feel...icky, that's the only word for it, icky." Sam's lips twitched, but he understood. "So...uh...anyway! You're all free from that nasty blood addiction! And you're getting all better, right?" He nodded, smiling. "Cool beans! But what about - about the natural stuff - the power without the blood - ?"

In answer, he reached out with the power, grabbed some of the crusty snow, warmed it enough so it would make a good snowball, then lofted it into the air in front of her. She grinned at it, looked at him, her eyes sparkling. He grinned back at her. Then he used the power to toss the hovering snowball at the back of her head.

"Aaaggghhh!" she screeched. She jumped up, twisting her head, reaching behind to pat her back, did a little dance. "Oh! You! I have snow down my back now, darn it!" She twisted some more, shook her shoulders, held the bottom back of her jacket out to try to shake some of the snow out. "Aaaggghhh! Now it's melting! And it's so _cold_!" She swooped down to scoop up some snow, make a ball, but she didn't have the advantage of warmth to meld the crusty top with the sparkling loose snow beneath. Still, she tossed the loose handful at him, laughing. He stood up, powdery snow spilling down his front, sticking in his hair, glittering in the sunlight, and threw his head back, laughing wholeheartedly. Then he reached forward, grabbed her, and pulled her into a huge hug. He leaned down, pecked the top of her head, snuggled her close.

"You're good for us, Charlie. So good."

She gently punched him in the ribs. "Yeah, well. You guys are good for me, too. So it's even."

He turned her around, started walking back to the cabin with his arm around her shoulders.

When they were close to the cabin, she darted in front of him and danced backwards, grinning again, waving her hands up and down. "Ha ha ha!" she crowed. "We have a surprise for you!" She ran to the cabin door, pulled it open, swept her hand in a grand gesture. "Ta-dahhh!"

He ducked in the door and stopped dead. There was a Christmas tree. A real tree, big and thick and piney-smelling. It glittered with lights and decorations. There was a pile of wrapped presents beneath it. Cas was standing by it, reaching up to put another decoration on. He smiled broadly at Sam, his vivid blue eyes gentle and loving. Charlie's Reaper was sitting to the side, looking up at the tree, perplexed. Grass was pouncing on some ribbon that had fallen on the floor.

Dean came in from the kitchen area, holding two beers. He held them up. "Beer?" Sam held his hand out, took one, absently popped the top off. Dean was grinning. He waved his hand, pointing with his own beer bottle. "Ain't it something?! Cas and Charlie just showed up with it, and the decorations, and the presents. And Grass and Doli, of course. _I_ was surprised. You surprised?" Sam nodded wordlessly, eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

"Yeah, well. Merry Christmas, bro," Dean said, and clapped him on the shoulder.


	26. Epilogue: Gone Away (The Offspring)

**A/N: Since I published two chapters at once, some of you may have gone straight to the epilogue, and skipped the final chapter. Make sure you read that first. ;-)**

* * *

She was still frozen.

Dani sat in a window seat of the small San Francisco to Fresno jet, stared out the window blindly, eyes solid, steady black.

Two rows behind her was a grandmotherly-looking woman, crocheting and chatting with her seatmate. Three rows ahead of her was a pot-bellied middle-aged man wearing too-tight clothes and a baseball cap. In the back of the plane was a skinny twenty-something with long black hair and awkward elbows and knees.

They had divided into four groups, each flying separately. There had been grumbling from some members of the inner circle, but she had insisted: no flitting. They had to save their power.

The plane taxied down the runway, came to a stop. The jetway deployed. Passengers gathered their belongings, stood up, stretched, chattered, slowly exited the plane.

They gathered at the central lobby, with its huge sequoia-bark veneer pillars and soaring ceiling. They didn't talk. They had worked out all the details beforehand. They exited into the chilly, sunny January day, picked up the rental car, began driving around the small city.

Every demon knew that demons went to Fresno when they died. There had been other towns over the millennia; Fresno was just the most recent.

And somewhere in Fresno, there was a newly-pregnant woman who harbored his soul now. The pregnancy was early enough that she might not even realize she was pregnant. They were going to find that woman, take the soul back, put it where it belonged. They all hoped that the ancient, obscure spell Dani had found to knit soul and body back together would work.

* * *

 **A/N: All done! Please let me know what you thought! I always welcome reviews.**

 **So now I'm almost all caught up. There are four chapters done of "Playing With Fire", the third book in the series, coming up in the next few days. After I post those, it'll be "real time", with chapters posted when they're complete. I'm still struggling with the plot of that one, so it may be slow going. I have parts worked out, and know where it is supposed to go, but it's "how to get there" that's holding me up. Just warning y'all!**


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